One x One Star Wars Flashbacks

[Lucyfer]

Sleeping Spaces
​

The Finalizer annoyed Kevan to no end. All the stuffy officers, all the armored soldiers – it was so impersonal. “Knight Ren.” One of those irksome officers approached him as he descended from the ramp, helmet on. He wondered, briefly, if they knew him from Gnaeus.


They probably all looked the same.


“How did the meeting with Grakkus go?”


Well at least they knew his mission, “Tell General Hux that Terex fucked it all up.”


“Um, I don’t – ”


“Terex. Fucked. It. Up. Four words. Not that hard,” Kevan was irked and he kept his strides long to demonstrate that.


Terex had royally fucked it up in trying to kill Grakkus some time back, and let Poe Dameron save Grakkus. So of course, the rich hutt with all the Jedi artifacts was unwilling to work with the First Order. Snoke, though? Promise a few Sith artifacts they didn’t need, and Grakkus was putty.


But he couldn’t say that. No, for all intents and purposes, Grakkus was not an ally to the First Order.


“But what happened!” The officer asked, just as Kevan reached the wing where Kylo Ren was, and as if there was an invisible wall, he stopped. He didn’t dare to get closer to the domain of the temperamental commander of the Knights.


So Kevan at least had some peace.


And Kylo Ren wasn’t there, but he did feel a familiar presence. That led him to the door of the room, so rarely occupied.


He knocked, but he didn’t wait for a response before he opened the door to catch the blonde with her hair down, mask off, almost looking…normal…standing in black slacks of some satiny material and a button up black shirt.


There was a half-empty coffee mug, and he imagined she’d been through quite a few of those from the darkness under her eyes. “Kevan?”


“Miss me?” He opened his arms as if he expected her to run to him, but she just scowled and turned back to her work.


Which, as Kevan noticed, was filling the entire room.


A map that he’d never be able to understand was laid out over the room, projected via a holoprojector. A datapad hovered in the air, linked with the holoprojector, as Mira moved the very stars and planets about, making everything fit together seamlessly, “I’m busy right now.”


“Clearly,” he was actually impressed, “What is all of this?” he asked, shutting the door and stepping into it.


The blue lit his face. The stars sparkled in his eyes as he walked through it, not causing any disturbance to the waves of light. It didn’t register his signature as one to allow changes to it.


“Wild Space,” she told him, “Snoke called me back when I’d traveled through one hundred planets, to start to work on mapping them and recording their information. There isn’t a good map of Wild Space out there. Not like this.”


Not with the details of fauna and life. Of sentience. Of distances, of the spaces between – the asteroid fields. Not the climates. Nothing. There were details scattered about, mostly in Imperial records, thanks to Palpatine, but most of those had been lost.


“Named’em yet? You get to, right?”


“I haven’t,” she said, swiping her hand to bring up the next planet, dully labeled ‘67’. “No point to it. The numbers work.”


“Then let me name one. That one.” He gestured to ‘69’.


Mira rolled her eyes, but then swiped it closer to herself, “What do you want to call it, Kevan?” it’d be forgotten by history, when people began to colonize it. When Wild Space became the next Outer Rim.


“Tell me about it.”


A slight cant to her head. Then, “69 was one of the planets with an Imperial station on it, and a strong presence in the Force, but it is otherwise unremarkable. Nearly inhospitable, it is a dry and cold planet, except for a few rare oases. They did produce rather good food, and the water was always delicious, but that might just be because I was usually starving and famished when I found one.” Never a good mix, “No intelligent life, but plenty of small things, small mammalian creatures for the most part.”


‘Imperial station….’ Something important was there, then, that Mira hadn’t found.


He wanted the planet to stick out. To be a reminder.


So, he answered: “Oneiroi.”


And watched her freeze.


There were few insights he had into her past as Ceres Mandon, but this was one. Coruscant, though a home for the Jedi, still had a domestic religion. Many on Coruscant had believed they had a familial guardian that protected families.


Oneiroi was the name of the Mandon guardian, depicted among stars. Dreams, she’d said it meant, or something like it.


Like Ceres meant evil, if spelled just a little differently. Growth was the other alternative – or really, to decay, or to grow. Both seemed equivalent to Kevan. Destruction caused creation and viceversa. “What? Sounds like it has potential, if there’s an Imperial station there. Something worth dreaming about.”


She didn’t jot the name down. She swiped back to 67, mood soured. “I’ve been meaning to ask – what are you looking for in Wild Space, anyway?”


“Kyber crystals, mostly,” she answered, “They’re useful for massive weapons. Also anything else similar, the Imperial stations, planets where the Force is strong….”


“What Palpatine was looking for?” Kevan pressed.


Mira’s confused look told him as much – she didn’t know what he meant. “What was Palpatine looking for?” She’d figured the Imperial stations were just part of Palpatine’s larger plan in general of understanding the Universe to rule it.


“Nothing,” he shook his head, shook it off. “Just something I heard a few Officers talking about. How I knew you were here,” he put on a smile.


“You’re a poor liar.”


“Only around you,” he took a seat on her bed, “Come lay down. You haven’t slept in a while, have you?”


“No, Kevan.”


“Just sleep!”


“Go get me coffee if you want to be helpful.”


“Tch,” but he pushed himself up from the bed, “Fine. Then I’m going to sleep.”


Kevan returned.


He made good on his promise to sleep, as well, falling to sleep in Mira’s bed. He hadn’t put the covers over himself, or even gotten a pillow, because he actually hadn’t planned to sleep. He woke up to find his head on a pillow, though, and the blankets over him.


He found Mira in the chair at her desk, nodding off, and he laughed softly to himself. “Prude,” he teased.


She didn’t hear the word, but heard his voice, and blinked open her eyes, “Mm?”


He just smiled, “So can I tell Kylo we slept together?”


He was smothered with a pillow. Damn the Force.

 

[KyloGlenn]

Laughter
​

“I can’t get over how cute she is! Look at her! She’s so small.” Phoebe Kent, twenty-two, gushed over the baby that lay on her back in front of her. “I love her eyes. She’s got your eyes. I love your eyes.” 


“She’s already got your hair. Dark and curly.” Bernard Kent, twenty-four, mused as he played with the short, curly hairs on his daughter’s head. 


The birth of this child had been an eventful one. Phoebe, having ignored the warnings of no space travel during the third trimester of her pregnancy, went into labor for all of two hours. None of which were spent in a hospital, but rather on that very ship. Phoebe didn’t even notice her water breaking, mistaking it as having to go to the bathroom. Contractions started and the parents spent most of that time arguing whether she was actually going into labor or not. 


Turns out, she was. And by the time they realized that, the baby was already making it’s way out of Phoebe’s body. She’d always heard stories of babies being born in spaceships but never thought it would happen to her.


Phoebe was worried that something would be wrong since she had ignored the no travel warnings, but upon reaching the nearest planet with a decent hospital, the baby turned out just fine, other than being a tad small. And it was there that Phoebe and Bernard named their newborn daughter Paquin.


Three months later, the both of them retired from the Rebel Alliance, even though the war was still being fought. The two weren’t too excited about that, but they wanted their daughter to have both parents. For the time being, anyway.


Phoebe played with the tiny baby toes, squealing over how cute they were. “Look! She’s smiling a little baby smile!” Bernard pointed out, poking the corners of Paquin’s mouth. 


Then something magical erupted from the little baby. “Bernard, did she just laugh? She laughed! Her first laugh! We need to film this!”


“I’ll go get the camera!” 


“Wait, no, you can’t miss this!”


“Phoebs!”


“Bernard!”


More giggles came from Paquin, her chubby little limbs flailing. 


But laughter wasn’t the only thing that came from Paquin.


“Babe…” Bernard spoke after a few moments of silence.


“I see it.”


Paquin’s stuffed bantha, typically used to prop her up, now floated above the baby. It spun around in slow circles, Paquin laughing and reaching into the air for it. Her tiny fingers wiggled in its direction.


It was then that Phoebe lifted her baby up, distracting Paquin. The toy fell back into the crib as Phoebe held Paquin to her chest and hurried her out of the room. “Phoebe…Phoebe, I know what you’re gonna do. You’re going to walk out and pretend like that never happened, but I don’t think you can do that with this.”


The parents immediately had known what that floating Bantha meant. They’d been too familiar with it. With Luke. With Vader. They weren’t ignorant enough to chalk it up to gravity, even if that’s what Paquin’s mother wanted to do. They weren’t even in space. They were docked on Yavin IV, visiting some of Phoebe’s pilot friends.


“Watch me.”


“Phoebe. We should talk to Luke.”


“No. No Luke. No Jedi. No Force, no nothing. We don’t talk about this. Maybe if we don’t encourage it, it’ll go away.”


“Yeah, sure. That’s how it works.”


“You don’t know how it works. Neither do I.”


Babe, what happens when she’s older? When she realizes what it is?”


“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”


“What if it’s too late?” Phoebe knew what Bernard meant by that, glaring at her husband.


“Our kid’s not gonna become a Sith lord.” She refused with a roll of her eyes, looking down to the wide-eyed baby. “How could something so small and with those eyes become evil?” She was speaking to Paquin in a baby voice then.


Paquin giggled.

 

[Lucyfer]

[SIZE= 22px]Burying Dreams[/SIZE]
​

Graduation came and went. Governor August Tarkin, a title he would have indefinitely, it seemed, went home.


Eriadu.


The Carrion Plateau.


He did not announce himself, snuck in on a freighter because he did not want to be known yet. The reckoning was coming, but before that, he needed a moment of peace. The young man trekked out onto the plateau that first day, prepared and alone, with only his memories to keep him company, and the constant alert status.

“Are you ready?”
​

 
​

The question came from Wilhuff Tarkin, who was leaning in the doorway of the dining room, dressed not as the Grand Moff, but in an outfit of many pockets and camouflage.
​

 
​

August Tarkin, who had just stepped down from his room for dinner, could only smile. “Let me change.” He didn’t even ask what Wilhuff was doing there. He knew. He had been briefed at a young age about this day – the day when he’d be whisked off to the Carrion Plateau to learn it, as every other Tarkin did.
​

He had thought Jova would do it, but Jova…ghost of the Carrion he might be, but he was old. Sickly. He couldn’t teach him like Wilhuff could. He was all but on his death bed those days.
​

The Carrion Plateau path he took was one that began on flat ground, fields. He could see miles around him, but he knew that wouldn’t protect him from all the creatures. Blackstalkers, in particular. ‘Force sensitive.’ He remembered Wilhuff had told him about them, before a few were released into the Carrion. Something to improve the other creatures. A change, to force adaptation. Improvement.


Some would have called it ‘damaging the ecosystem’.


They saw it as improving it. Challenging it.


The Carrion was a living thing, as much as the creatures within it.


For the most part, the creatures kept clear of Wilhuff. Mostly herbivores were out now, feasting on the field.


He could see the Carrion Spike, towering over all.

 
​

Hissed breath escaped August as he cut his hands on the rock, slipping high up on the Spike, and looking up at Wilhuff several meters above him.
​

 
​

Laughing eyes. He only ever seemed happy, here.
​

 
​

“Do you need a hand, August?”
​

 
​

August would have bit any hand offered. He sneered at his cousin and put a bloody hand on the rock, pulled himself up and found the next hold. One, after the other, he followed Wilhuff up to the region the veermoks once claimed as their own.
​

 
​

They sat on the edge of it, looking down upon the world. “Why don’t you have the Spike any longer?”
​

 
​

“Repairs,” Wilhuff sighed. “I have no time to work on it myself.”
​

 
​

“But you have time to see me?”
​

 
​

That glint came into those blue eyes again. “The Emperor understands how important this is.” His eyes moved to down to the ground they rested upon, holding a half-eaten fruit in his hand. “I must return home now and then as it is to maintain my presence. I am Grand Moff, after all. It would be remiss if I did not return to govern, now and then,” ghost of a smile, “Besides, even I get homesick.” Longing. It was written on his angular features.
​

 
​

“For this?”
​

 
​

“This is my home,” he looked to him, then, “One day you’ll understand. One day you’ll have the choice every Tarkin has…to remain, to become a teacher to the rest of the line, as Jova was, or to follow my path and govern the mundane.”
​

 
​

“Why did you choose the mundane?”
​

 
​

“I didn’t have a choice.”
​

Nor did August, he realized bitterly. Glared at the Spike Wilhuff had so loved, that Wilhuff claimed had his heart. He’d never found a lover who understood, he had confessed to August, once. He was ‘heartless’.


August never thought Wilhuff was heartless.


Wilhuff didn’t think so, either. No one knew where his heart was, he’d always say.


It was here.


“I don’t care if you didn’t love any of them,” August grumbled. “You could have at least…given me the choice…,” he grunted as he pulled himself up a rocky cliff. Not the Spike, that wasn’t his direction. His hands were scratched by it. Clothes dirtier. “I was supposed to have a choice.” Stood, walked on. “I know you hear me.”

“When we die, we rejoin the Force.”
​

 
​

“That’s just what the Jedi say.” And their religion was dead and gone.
​

 
​

“No. That is the way of it,” Wilhuff had said, matter-of-factly. “The Force does not abide by any religion. Its rules do not bend to make them happy. The Jedi, the Nightsisters, the Sith, all of these and more acknowledge the Force and try to control it. You should acknowledge it, even if you cannot manipulate it. You must be aware of it.”
​

 
​

“So I lose my identity when I die and become the Force?”
​

 
​

“Some say you may cling to your identity. Your presence,” Wilhuff’s eyelids lowered over his eyes as he stared out at the vast world before him, knee to his chest, a fire burning to keep them warm. “I do not know if it is true.”
​

He was muttering too much, too angry. One of those blackstalkers that his cousin had released slipped out of the shade of a tree to try and bring him down, but August heard the steps, saw the shadow, and spun around in time to ram the butt of his blaster into its face. It let out a high whimper as it landed on its feet again, growled, and tried to lunge again.


August dropped the blaster and rolled forward, letting the blackstalker shoot over him. He grabbed the nearest large stick, and fed it to the stalker when it whipped around and came at him again. Choked it with it, watched the creature hack up blood and try to squirm away as he continued to press it down the creature’s throat – until it stopped moving.


He carried on, left it there.


He reached Jova’s home by dusk, glared at how unmaintained it was in his absence. He knew it would be, but it still upset him as he dropped his pack and unlocked the door. He only grabbed a shovel, and then went back out to get the pack and walked around the home.


There was a small memorial of sorts there.


There were a few graves.


His own father’s was there.

 
​

August could still feel the weight as Jova wrapped an arm around his shoulders and leaned on him. He fought his own tears as they stood again on the threshold of Jova’s home – his true home, and walked through those doors for the last time of Jova.
​

 
​

They drank tea.
​

 
​

They ate only what could be hunted in the Carrion, or gathered.
​

 
​

They talked as Jova seemed to forget who he was, variously addressing him as Wilhuff or Wilhuff’s father, Gerard.
​

 
​

At the end, he couldn’t remember anyone but Gerard. He forgot his wife, yelled at her often to go away and get the hell out of his sight. August pretended to be Gerard. It was the only way to talk his father into take his medicine. The only way to comfort him when the darkness came.  
​

 
​

In the end, he was buried here. His wife was not, buried instead with the other Tarkins. Where people would have wanted Wilhuff to be buried.
​

But there was nothing of Wilhuff to bury. There was a scrap of the Death Star. There was his uniform. Those would be buried in Eriadu City.


August had his heart, though. A veermok’s pelt, and the clothes he wore in the Carrion Spike, and he dug a hole big enough for a body before he buried that small box. He came out, soaked with sweat and dirty with mud, nearer to dawn than he was to dusk. He hadn’t realized how tiring burial was, when it was just one person. He wanted to collapse on the grave itself, but instead he walked to the memorial plague and finished the job.


Wilhuff’s name was added to it, etched in stone. It wasn’t ‘forever’. Ideally, the plague would need to be larger, one day. More Tarkins. More room would be needed.


But for now, it was large enough for many generations more, and August slid down it once the job was done, caked in mud and feeling…at peace.


He wouldn’t get to stay here. He knew that.


But he could stay and watch the sun come up over his kingdom.


And he could try to believe that every name on that plague, was here. In the Force of the Carrion that made it so…alive. Adaptable.


August slept against that monument. Nothing came to bother him. He dreamt, and when he woke, he felt refreshed, right before dawn.


And he didn't feel so alone.

 

[KyloGlenn]

Aftermath
​

“Paquin, what’s going on?” Alia, a fellow medic, questioned as she and two others approached, wheeling a gurney. 


They hadn’t even been on the Finalizer for half an hour before Paquin was sent a message, instructed to be ready in the hangar. It consisted of exactly those words, give or take. “Someone’s injured.”


“Obviously. But who?”


“I don’t know, I was just told to be here.” Paquin shook her head. 


Paquin was out of it, they all could tell. She had been since Starkiller was first fired, destroying the Hosnian system. Her doe eyes had been hazy and she herself was spacey as they evacuated the now destroyed base.


It was then that a ship slowed outside of the hangar, pulling into the Finalizer.


“That’s Commander Ren’s ship,” Marienne commented. Despite the name, he was a man. “What does that mean?” Who was injured?


That became apparent when the ramp lowered, and Stormtroopers fell out, struggling to haul the very large form of Kylo Ren. Hux was walking, just fine, behind them. 


Paquin’s eyes widened as she stepped aside, allowing the troops to plop Commander Ren on the gurney. There was blood. A lot of it. All of the Stormtrooper’s white armor, all over Kylo Ren himself. 


‘Kylo Ren.’ Paquin was terrified. Not of the man. Not now, anyway. How could she be when he was out cold? More so that now his life was in her hands. Yes, the other medics as well, but she was the head medic. If he died… ‘Can’t let him.’


“Paquin!” Marianne’s voice snapped Paquin out of her daze. “What do you want us to do?”


Paquin blinked. She stepped forward, reaching her hand out to check his pulse. It was there, but weak. She pulled her now bloodied hand back. “Start getting this armor off of him, find the wounds and start slowing the bleeding. Alia, run ahead and start pulling blood type O negative. Aron,” she spoke to the second man. “get a blood test so we can figure out his actual blood type.”


‘If only you’d come to routine check ups, Commander.’ 


With a glance back to Hux, who seemed rather unconcerned while speaking with troopers, Paquin gave a motion to have Kylo Ren wheeled off to the medbay, hurrying along with them.


-


Hours. Paquin and her team had worked on Kylo Ren for hours. They took care of the major wounds first. The one on his left side. It was large and Paquin wondered how he hadn’t been dead upon arrival. Then the one on his shoulder. He was lucky, the arm was just inches away from being rendered useless. 


Every time they finished closing a wound, another seemed to pop up. But the bleeding was stopped, wounds stitched.


The face was…complicated. It was somehow a burn and somehow a cut. Not quite cauterized. It was stitched and wrapped. It would become a gnarly scar. 


While working, Paquin hadn’t taken much notice to Kylo Ren’s appearance. Not under all the blood anyway. But as the end came and she and the others were wiping blood off of him, getting him into a very fashionable medical gown, she got a good look at him.


He was much younger than she thought he’d be. Long dark hair contrasted against his pale skin, which was dotted with beauty marks. Lips were chapped, likely from the cold of Starkiller, but they were plump. Strong nose and brows. When she pulled open his eyes to shine a light in them, she noted that they were brown. 


Boyish. A little quirky looking, but attractive. Which she did not expect. He looked too soft, too pretty, and she briefly wondered if this was the same man that ran around destroying things, causing chaos in Hux’s Order.


She let him be wheeled away, to be set up in a private, more comfortable room where they could monitor him. She wanted him to wake before doing anything more, to make sure everything was functioning normally. 


But for then, the operation room was covered top to bottom in blood. She needed to get to cleaning.


Sure, there were troopers and droids that could do that. But they could never do it up to Paquin’s standards.


-


She spent just as long cleaning as she did working on the Commander. Maybe longer. 


She was sweaty and gross, covered in blood that wasn’t her own. She was exhausted. All she could think about was taking a nice long bath—which would end up being a shower as there were no bathtubs on the Finalizer—and sleeping for an entire standard year. Something had switched in her, when she felt the rumbling of Starkiller. When she’d practically heard the screams of those on Hosnian Prime. She could almost feel the loss of life.


“Excuse me,” the voice of a Stormtrooper startled her. “General Hux would like a report on Commander Ren’s status.” A few of them had paused in the doorway.


“Right, uh.” Paquin stood, stretching. “He’s stable. I wouldn’t say he’s out of the woods yet, but he’s alive.”


“Can he be moved?”


“Moved?”


“Yes, relocated. He’s requested elsewhere.”


“No,” Paquin shook her head. “He’s not well enough to be moved. He hasn’t woken up yet, there might be damage to his head. There’s still a number of things I need to do before he can even go to the bathroom on his own.”


“Hux wants him moved.” The trooper seemed to ignore Paquin, instead moving to search for Kylo Ren, the others following.


“I’ve not cleared him to be released, you can’t take him anywhere.” Paquin followed.


“Hux ordered it.”


“Hux doesn’t know anything about medicine. It’s not safe, I still need to make sure he can function properly. It can wait.”


“He will be looked after elsewhere.”


“They don’t have the information we do here.” Paquin continued to protest.


“Transfer it.” The trooper opened the door to Kylo Ren’s room, gesturing for the other troops to move him.


“I want to talk to Hux.” Paquin moved to block the exit to the room. Of course, she could just be picked up and moved, but the main trooper sighed.


-


“What is the problem?” The ginger General was irritated as he joined the group, taking a glance at the unconscious Ren. “Why has he not been moved yet?”


“The medic won’t let us.”


Hux glanced down to the woman, barely even noticing her when he entered. “And why’s that?”


“He shouldn’t be moved. He hasn’t woken up since surgery—which was only a few hours ago, by the way—we have no idea what his head is like. He’s being held together by threads.”


“Is he breathing on his own?”


“Yes.”


“And you expect him to live?”


“…Yes.”


“Then he can be moved. He will receive medical attention elsewhere. You’ve done your job, you’ve kept him alive. We can take it from here. Get him in his ship.” Hux directed the troopers.


“Yes, sir.”


“But—“


“If you want to keep your job, you won’t protest an order again.” Hux silenced the brunette.


Paquin watched, helpless and pouting, as they wheeled Kylo Ren away. ‘What’s the point of having medics if you ignore them?’ Paquin’s jaw clenched. She angrily pulled the latex gloves off of her hands and through them in the trash. She was done for a few hours.

 

[Lucyfer]

[SIZE= 22px]A Knight’s Trial: Kevan Ren[/SIZE]
​

 
​

“Supreme Leader.” Mira looked into her own communicator device, surprised at her own boldness in some respects, as she looked into the face of the Supreme Leader. She didn’t call him – he called her. “I apologize for my call,” eyes moved down. Fear, more than respect, “Since we have joined with the First Order, I have been…concerned about Kevan Ren.”
​

 
​

She did not say ‘her apprentice’. According to the Supreme Leader, he was not her apprentice. It was an unofficial designation since she had done most of his training. The bond was there.
​

 
​

In the silence, she continued, “I have not been able to see his training to completion.” He needed a trial. He had a trial to get into the Knights, but to her, he was still an apprentice. He needed a test to move beyond it. To be a ‘Knight’. “I would like permission to bring Kevan out into Wild Space to make sure of his skills.”
​

 
​

Snoke’s dark eyes remained on her. She felt them burning into her. “Mira.” She looked up, keeping her face perfectly bland. “Kevan Ren’s skills lay not where yours lay.”
​

 
​

“I understand that we are to use our skills differently,” she still found it odd that she was in Wild Space of all places, considering where her skills lay – the realm of the mind. She’d yet to catch on that it was just for that reason, and her ability to pick up on things quickly through that sense, that she was good at avoiding things that might have killed the others, “however I feel that we should not be limited to one area. If Kevan were thrown into my situation by his ship crashing, I would like him to be able to survive.”
​

 
​

To figure out the healthy food. To know how to deal with the creatures. To assess the situation, and to rebuild a ship from scrap. All very important skills.
​

 
​

Snoke considered, and Mira waited in the silence, knowing it was not ever a good idea to question the Supreme Leader’s judgment. “Very well,” came the words. It was not for the reasons that Mira was commenting on, but no need to let her know that. “You may bring Kevan Ren with you to your next planet.”
​

So that was how Kevan Ren ended up in her ship, with his datapad plugged into it, blasting his music as he watched how Mira easily steered her ship through areas that were, quite literally, uncharted. His gaze was out, watching with fascination as the system in the ship automatically mapped it, her own datapad hooked up to a different system to record the information around Echo, the ship sending out ripples of noise to catch an image of all that was around it.


Echo, indeed.


It had a small cloak around it, as well. Mira had commented about space worms being a threat in Wild Space, as well as things like the oswaft and sirens – or she thought they were sirens. It had been a sound she’d picked up one day, but never found the source of despite searching for hours.


“All she cares about is money in the city where she’s from


Her intention is the paper, she don’t need no fucking love,


She’s spilling all this liquor trying to pass me all these cups


Well baby girl, I’m zoning, somebody should have told her….”


Mira wouldn’t admit it, but there was something catchy about the music Kevan liked, even if the lyrics often left much to be wanted.


“Here we are,” Mira commented, the planet rising up before them, “14.”


“14, huh? Guess I should be glad it isn’t 13. How bad was that one?”


“Not so bad,” Mira answered, “Dry.” 14 did not look dry, at all. It looked like a verdant and lush world, quite habitable, with a few towering mountain ranges. “I haven’t explored this world yet. You won’t be exploring it to completion with me, but you will be learning how to use your skills of improvisation here.” Since, apparently, he was good at that. Diplomacy. Bluffing. “I’ll advise, but you’re going to be in charge for a week of how we travel, and how we get things done, and how we interact. I’ll only interject if you’re going to get us killed.”


“Gee, thanks,” Kevan chuckled, “How is this a trial then? What am I being judged on?”


“Not getting us killed,” she said, smiled as she added, “and how often I have to give you hints. I’ll give you one now: think of this entire world, as you would a crowd.”


He blinked, and she elaborated, “Worlds have a feel to them, like a crowd,” she knew that well, after the ewoks. Learned to tap into it, “So when you land, try to feel it. You’ll catch on to warnings easier that way, and learn where to go to get what you need.”


Life supported life. On planets like these, it was easier to tap into the flow, too.


Echo landed near the mountains, since there was no open spot among the trees. The air was clean, crisp, and Mira immediately let herself feel like she was sinking into the world as she stepped out, sensing for that thing Snoke always told her she’d know. Understand. She’d learn that when she reached planet ‘69’.


Kevan stepped out, and she could tell immediately that he was trying. She didn’t let him struggle with it, though. She took his wrist, and immediately forged the connection for him, using herself as the anchor to sink him into the feeling. “Got it?” She asked him after a few moments of the meld.


He nodded, and she broke her ties. Felt him struggle to grasp it himself, hold that rope that tied him to the world, but he got it now that he had the feeling.


He took a deep breath as the ship closed itself up. Exploration. Understanding. This sort of mission didn’t have set rules, when they didn’t know what lied ahead. They had to cover ground, though. “All right. This way.” He said, letting the flow of the world pull him, taking in the flow of sensations the way he would have in a crowd. Except, he understood crowds. Their pulls were emotional ones.


This was…different.


Mira followed along after him as they moved around the mountain, hugging it. Mira had her datapad out, and let it record in a way similar to Echo, capturing the environment and mapping it. Mira would speak in some details, more often as they encountered more life, mostly birds and small vermin.


“Kevan.” She paused after just a few hours of this, suddenly understanding the pulse of life that Kevan was following. “Kevan, stop.” There was a tremor in her voice.


He turned, confused. “What? I’m just—”


“Being pulled by a creature,” she finished for him. He looked confused, “Force sensitive creatures exist, in different varieties.” Some used stealth, like the blackstalkers. Others pulled their prey to them, an instinctual sort of ‘Jedi Mind Trick’ that Mira had learned about the hard way once already. “It’s got our scent. We don’t want to encounter it.” And already she was drawing in, pulling herself away from the world, away from the creature she had let pull them. “Cloak yourself. Pull in. We’re going to the forest.”


Kevan could agree to that, tried to remember the pull of the many small things, and then sprinted in that direction, not reconnecting himself.


The problem was, Mira was right – the creature knew when they pulled back and tried to cloak, and it left its mountain perch in pursuit.


They didn’t make it to cover before its shadow fell over them. “Are you fucking kidding me….”


Mira’s lightsaber lit immediately, and she dodged the claws that tried to pull her from the ground, whipping around as the reptilian creature landed, pressing itself low to the ground on its six legs, looking between the two humans with its six eyes, tailed stinger whipping around behind it, a glint of poison on the tip of it. The two front hands were quite a bit different from the legs, more bestial, with clear fingers and claws.


Cloaks fell, both immediately reconnected, and Mira felt the pull from Kevan. She allowed it, submerged herself in the link that just contained the pair of them, blocking out the dragon from the bond as they took in the sight and feeling of each other.


“I don’t suppose we can talk to it, can we?” Kevan joked as he was backing up, closer to Mira.


“Do you understand it?”


“I understand it wants to eat me.”


“Then what do you think?”


“If I knew how to convince it I was poisonous, I would.” His lightsaber lit then. “Although I’m not sure it would care.”


The beast was assessing them then, their linked energy likely confusing it since it clearly saw two entities, but felt one.


They moved with the thoughts and impulses of the other. As Mira sprinted forward, so, too, did Kevan. Speeded by the Force, she was able to jump when the creature lunged forward, placing herself neatly on its scaled, spiked, back. The footing had to be quick to avoid impaling herself on one of those spikes that ran all along its spine. Then a dodge, as its tail came down to try and hit her, heedless of its own safety.


Though, the needle didn’t break the flesh of the creature. Armored, then.


Mira immediately tested the lightsaber in a step back and spin away from the next downward strike of the tail, but the lightsaber barely cut it. It’d take too much time to penetrate the scales, and this creature could clearly multi-task.



Kevan had come at it head on, and ducked the claws it tried to throw at his face. He had moved to its wings and tried to cut one off, but to no avail. His lightsaber connected, but didn’t push through it. It sizzled and cracked, clearly caused pain as he continued to apply pressure to try and get it all the way through, but he didn’t have the time. All the strength he forced into his arms wasn’t working to speed this up much.


The different angles provided them with enough information when the creature turned, lifting from its two legs. Mira felt the instability and gripped the Force to keep her feet in place on the creature’s back, while Kevan understood what was about to him. He released the lightsaber and sprinted, just as the creature’s claw would have fallen upon him.


Though, without him there, the creature quickly rose back up to two and began to beat its wings, destabilizing the area around it so Kevan would have difficulties returning to the fray. It had felt the push of the Force, and knew the woman on its back couldn’t move well when it was like this.


And indeed, Mira couldn’t, pinning herself so she wouldn’t slide and end up prone on the ground.


So the creature made to impale her again on its tail. Naturally, she responded with the Force and tried to hold the tail up, even while the creature valiantly fought against that push, trying to inch its way down.


Kevan ran back to the fray, using his own Force push to try and clear the gusts that were being created, and he was successful.


The creature dropped to two again, too quickly. It shook Mira and she fell back onto the creature.


“KAH!” The scream escaped her as the tail seemed to fall with her, striking through her side. She spasmed, rolled, even though that allowed the wound to be wider, and fell off the back of the creature clutching her side, knowing she was poisoned too well. There was a chance it wasn’t fatal, of course, but Mira wasn’t going to take that chance.


Kevan, however, had finished it off in that time. The creature had turned for him, lunged for him, but was stopped short when its mouth opened and Kevan’s red blade lengthened.


Right through the brain of the creature, through the mouth. The interior of it wasn’t as well-armored. He saw it jerk as he pulled his blade back, struggle, scramble, before it did, inevitably, collapse.


Kevan waited just a second to make sure the life was fading from it, before he ran around it to where Mira was, clutching her side as blood was spilling out. He realized a moment later she was doing that on purpose, “What the hell?” Poison ran through his mind, through her own thoughts. “You’ll kill yourself!” He tried to put his hands to the wound, tried to use his own Force, but he was shoved back.


“Look,” she spoke, breathless, so he could see the venom amidst the poison, a clear substance that didn’t mix into the blood. Still separated. “We’ll find a river. I’ll heal. I’ve been through worse.” Winced, as she tried to pull more of the substance out, always with more blood, always on the verge of falling over from the loss.


Kevan fretted, pulling back on their connection, separating it, but still feeling the pain of worry until Mira finally seemed to stop. Holding the blood in. Kevan whipped off his black cloak then, not waiting for instruction, and forced Mira to sit down so he could at least wrap the wound.


‘Focus on what you need.’ She had said, and what they needed was water. He made that thought clear as his hands worked at wrapping the wound, until he seemed to see a path. Heard the rushing of the water.


It was an hour away, but they walked, and Mira all but submerged herself in it to drink, before she passed out. He was careful in leaving her, but he did – left her get firewood, to get food, using his instincts to determine what would be good eating, trying to focus on where he saw other creatures seemed to have picked at the food, before returning to the water and setting up the fire, the food.


Then, he waited for her to come to.


‘Through worse.’ Without others around. How did she survive, he found himself wondering. He thought he sensed it in the world, a certain energy pulsing from this area like a red alert – a warning, a promise of death, that he suspected might have been Mira’s way of protecting herself in this state. Sending out the vibe that approaching would lead to death. Did it work on non-Force sensitives, though? The way a mother knew when her child was in danger, even without the Force?


But then, she woke, and that red alert feeling seemed to vanish. Kevan watched her, silent, as her eyes opened and stared, deadened, at the darkening sky. Slow, deep breaths, before she seemed to shake herself out of it. “Bad dream?” Kevan joked.


Her answer wasn’t anticipated, “I’m not allowed to dream anymore,” sat up, winced with the movement, and took one of the fruits she saw without much examination, and bit into it. Crept closer to the warmth of the fire. She felt very cold, and knew why. All that lost blood. But she was alive.


“Everyone dreams,” Kevan countered. “Maybe you just don’t—”


“No.” Denied. “I don't dream.” Continued to eat the fruit.


Kevan frowned. “Why’s that?” Since she seemed so confident in it.


“Oneiroi,” there was a shake to her voice as she said the name. Kevan already knew how she was about names. They had power to her, power to shape things. She’d been ‘Ceres Mandon’ before she was ‘Mira Ren’.


“I don’t know what that is.”


“Guardian of the Mandon family, is the best way to put it,” she said softly, “Its realm was dreams. Supposedly.” Doubt. He heard it, didn’t comment on it. It seemed to be something she was struggling with – but evidently, she hadn’t dreamt for a while. Or didn’t remember dreaming.


“Well, I think we just lived a dream. Knights overcame a dragon,” he grinned cheekily, shifting the subject. Mira lifted her gaze to him.


Very calmly, “That wasn’t a dragon, Kevan. A dragon would have been much more difficult. That was what I’d classify as a flying scorpion.”


Kevan’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding me.”


“A dragon would have been more difficult.”


“I’m telling everyone I killed a dragon.” Kevan ‘hmph’d, earning a laugh from Mira that stopped short as she ended up gasping for breath, wincing at the pain again. “Flying scorpion. Scorpion’s bodies aren’t armored.”


“They are,” Mira smiled, “but when they’re small, the carapace isn’t able to withstand the force of, say, a foot.”


“Stop crushing my dreams. I killed a dragon, okay.”


“Okay. You’re a knight. You killed a dragon. Happy?”


“And saved a fair maiden.”


“After getting said ‘fair maiden’ into the situation.”


“…dream killer.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Knight’s Trial: Mira Ren
​

Kevan managed to convince Mira to leave ‘14’ behind to get medical attention, but he didn’t take her back to the Finalizer – lest Snoke get mad at both of them. Instead, they went to Hevurion, where Kevan called on a few favors there to get Mira seen without any questions asked. That, and an excess of credits, and Mira was soon seen to a bacta tank and taken care of, before she was allowed back into Kevan’s care.


“Now I need to get back to—”


“Ah, not quite yet,” Kevan said, “You might be a dragon,” he commented, “and able to hold your own out there, but I think you need to learn this jungle, too.” They stood outside the hospital, on a raised platform above many other buildings. Air traffic flowed around them, “You know…just in case,” he winked, and Mira rolled her eyes. “What? Don’t think you can?”


“I know I can,” confident, as ever.


“Yeah?” He smirked, “We’ll see about that. You get uncomfortable fairly easily,” cheeky grin, “So I was thinking, since I was here before you pulled me away, we’d finish up my mission here.”


“And what mission was that?”


“Convince Erudo Ro-Kiintor to join the First Order and serve as one of our agents in the Senate. Carise didn’t fit his appetite,” Kevan shrugged one shoulder. “He’s been annoying us. He’s a Centrist, so that’s good, but he wants to buff up the New Republic military. We need to convince him otherwise.”


Mira considered what was being said. “How long do I have to prepare?” She asked after a few moments of staring out at the space.


“You have to have the situation handled in twenty four hours.” Kevan smirked, wondering if she could work that quick. Wondering how she’d handle it. He had been trying to figure it out himself. Ro-Kiintor was a calculating man, always looking at numbers. He had his vices, of course, and Kevan knew how to play with some of them – play demon to his saint – but he had grasped quickly this was the sort of man who would turn on them the second he realized he was being played. So, asking Ariel to go seduce him at his favorite club didn’t even cross his mind.


He wanted to see his Master at work. Kevan knew he’d figure it out eventually – but he wanted to see if she could start on it. Get him figured out enough for Kevan to move in and finish it.


“Good enough.” She agreed. “Where does he live, and where does he frequent?” she assumed Kevan had this information, and indeed, he did, providing it, and then he followed along as Mira began to visit the frequent haunts. Watched as she employed that “Mind Trick” in casual conversation to make people start talking about Ro-Kiintor, gathering up an image of him from the people he interacted with until the evening fell.


“We should go to a boutique,” Mira noted, glancing to the sky then. “He has business at the Serenity tonight.” Remembered, from talking to someone who mentioned his reservation there for a private room. The Serenity was a rather high-profile gentleman’s club from the looks of it.


“You…cannot be serious.” Kevan was more trying to imagine Mira in such a place.


“Oh, I am,” she smirked, “What, would you rather go to a fetish store, Kevan? I don’t think it’s ladies night.” He laughed, surprised by the boldness, but not arguing. He showed the way, paid the way for Mira to dress in gold and green, the dress shimmering with her movements. Formal, elegant, but it screamed of a certain decadence that Kevan hadn’t thought Mira would know how to capture.


The lights would draw eyes to her, and Kevan dressed appropriately to match, whites and gold for him, wondering just what the hell Mira had in mind but not asking. This was far too interesting to be spoiled.


They went to the club shortly after Ro-Kiintor was meant to be there, and Kevan covered the charges easily again, and in they walked.


Six inch heels


She walked in the club like nobody’s business


Goddamn


She murdered everybody and I was her witness


The lights did catch the dress, and Mira made a bee-line for a twi’lek server, caught her arm as the other took a drink, and whispered, “Where can I find the senator?” before letting go of the arm and letting the pink-skinned woman look her over, not even asking why after one look.


Ro-Kiintor liked class. The twi’lek just assumed the special occasion brought in a special sort of worker that night, since she wasn’t one of the dancing girls, and so she led Mira and the one she assumed was Mira’s manager towards the private rooms.


She stack her money, money everywhere she goes


She got that Sake…


The server just motioned silently to which door it was, and then scurried off to go back to picking up and delivering orders. Mira handed the drink off to Kevan then, who downed it. Blending in was essential, in any environment, but she wasn’t drinking that poison. She’d grabbed it just to make it look like she belonged.


Mira wasted no time, walking to the door and knocking, listening for the invitation in. When she heard it, she stepped in, motioned for Kevan to follow as the senators present looked up, curious – and then wary by Kevan’s entrance.


“Dame Ren,” Mira said, looking right to the bald one with the elegant robes and offering her hand, “of the First Order and the Knights of Ren.” Her eyes shifted to the item on the table between the men, as Kevan let the door slide shut, the bass the only thing heard of the music.


This wasn’t for a show or a private dance. They were covering up other deals with the debauchery outside. Letting a lesser sin be known to hide a greater one.


Imperial propaganda. Imperial artifacts.


How convenient. “I apologize for the interruption,” she easily took a seat on the table, crossing her legs, left over right, “But it seems like everyone here in this room has a similar interest to us, so perhaps this was…fortuitous.”


She gestured back to Kevan, “That is my apprentice, Kevan.”


“Apprentice. Dame.” Not Ro-Kiintor spoke. “What are you implying with these titles?”


“If you know I’m implying something, you should be able to guess,” she smiled to him, then looked back to Ro-Kiintor, “I’m a Sith,” it was convenient. Before anyone could ask for proof, she lifted a glass of liquor up with the Force, and floated it back to Kevan, who easily caught it. “But I’m not here to talk of an archaic religion when I really just care about the power it offers. The stability it once promised the galaxy in the forms of Darth Sidious and Darth Vader, or Emperor Palpatine. General Hux seeks to bring a similar order to the Galaxy again.”


Ro-Kiintor spoke, “We’d never…want to support that sort of regime,” he said, cautious, in case this was a trick, “enslaving the lesser races,” his own words gave him away, “when we should be helping them. Not depleting resources, destroying planets, and all that other kind of terrible stuff.”


“Hux is not enslaving races.” Brainwashing Stormtroopers. Not exactly a fan of that, but not the point, she was selling the Order, not defending it, “And have you seen General Hux deplete any resources or destroy any planets?” The smile was patient then, albeit a bit coy. She gestured, open hand, palm to the ceiling and nails curved over it, “He has seen the steps of failure and will improve upon them, for the benefit of all. Humans, and non-humans alike,” these sorts thought of humans as the superior race. The future.


It was their path to save all the others. “It was why he had to separate himself from the Senate, but you all can still play a useful role in the senate, and you will be rewarded for it.”


“How?” Ro-Kiintor asked, immediately.


“Financially,” Kevan answered, “I have a few shell companies set up, and I can easily put your names on them and funnel money through them, to you,” he offered, knowing Mira wouldn’t have that information – but he obviously didn’t get alliances for free.


The First Order dealt in money, more than anything else. So he had money to barter with.


Mira nodded, “Lord Kevan,” sure, Sith titles, why not? “will be your main contact through this.”


“Why not you?” Ro-Kiintor asked, coy, reaching a hand to her.


She immediately caught his wrist and twisted it back until he cried out. She let it go then, and put on a smile that was far from pleasant, “I have more important things to be doing.” She knew it was a bad hit to his ego, but she didn’t care right then. “My apprentice handles these matters. He has a knack for it, and he will safely connect you to your network of allies already in the Senate.”


Ro-Kiintor kept a glare on her as he shook out his hand, but let the conversation continue, with Kevan soon joining Mira’s side and talking more animatedly about what to expect as a servant to the Order.

 

[Lucyfer]

[SIZE= 22px]The Necessary Evil[/SIZE]
​

Light filtered into the room that spoke of a long and lustrous history. White marble and wood encompassed the gazebo that August Tarkin sat under. Floral scents filled the area, and the music of the wind, the insects, and the birds were brought to his ear, but his eyes were out at the water that flowed down over the gazebo, into the stream it was built over. The way the droplets reflected the light and scattered rainbows. Just out of the corner of those blue eyes, he saw the cobblestone walks that led to this area of the public garden, made private by an entourage of New Republic guards.


There was a twinkle of sound, of fabric he knew would be white when he looked away from the water, but he did not do so. He wanted to keep an image of short, red hair, and fierce blue eyes in his head for as long as he could, and so he did – holding it until he heard her voice.


Firm, but shaking. “A treat, Senator Tarkin.”


He cast his gaze away from the rainbows to see the silver-haired woman in white, and he felt sorrow pull at the edges of his smile as he took the curiously orange beverage from her. “What is this?” He inquired, bringing it to his nose to sniff.


“Crème D’Infame,” she smiled, taking a seat in the gazebo with him, “There hasn’t been any made since before the Clone Wars.”


“A treat indeed,” he agreed, “I thought you would save it for a special occasion,” but he knew this was.


He liked hearing it, though. “This is a special occasion.”


“Then call me August, Mon. You’re no longer a senator in a week.” He saw her own smile pull with sorrow. “You don’t have to leave.”


But her eyes fluttered and she shook her head, “I must. I cannot set a precedence. I agreed that I would step down from being Chancellor when everything was settled, and I will honor that. We are at peace now. The Empire is defeated, all that remains is the First Order.” She canted her head, “Besides, I still remember watching you as a boy. I’m too old for this.” Sick.


August knew. It hurt, though. It made him, admittedly, fearful for the future of the New Republic. Mon Mothma was more than a figurehead. She was that genuine light in their halls, and though she favored the Populists, she listened to the Centrists. Her debates were not mean-spirited, her calm brought everyone to heel. Perhaps he’d loved her, in a way, as a child might a revered grandmother.



Gingers made the world go round, right? Palpatine, Mothma, Tarkin. “I know,” he sipped the wine, “For what it’s worth, I will miss you as I bring the senate under Centrist control.”


She laughed a bit, “If it is you, I won’t mind so terribly much,” and there was that genuine kindness. The beauty that she held even into her age, in her heart and soul – like the Corosian Phoenix. Like the Angels. It was not false at all, just…natural. It set her apart from even Leia Organa. “You have done much for the New Republic, August. You have brought in many from the Empire to our cause, and helped to rebuild. Without your influence over the Centrists and the Imperialists, we would have had a much harder battle in settling into peace.”


August could be humble. He wasn’t the best at it, though, so he didn’t deny her words of his influence, “Thank you,” was what he said, appreciating how she acknowledged the work he did. “I will continue to try and mediate between, as best I can. Though, you are making my life harder,” he sighed, “Leaving me with Leia.” He complained like a brother would of a sister. Mon was everyone's mother. Grandmother. It was easy to complain in that way.


“She only did it once.” They both recalled the incident in the senate, when Leia had dared to cut him off on the matter of Kashyyyk – stating how he couldn’t possibly understand the necessity of a natural world, considering all the ways he was building up Eriadu. Dared a comparison between him and Wilhuff in regards to their love of the natural world and free species.


“Once, because you spoke up for me,” defended him. Of course, Kashyyyk got more than what August would have given it, in large part because of the role Chewbacca played in the Rebel Alliance – but at least Mon Mothma had defended his character.


She smiled, “You have surprised me, many times. You are like Wilhuff,” she would not deny it. He had the sunken cheeks and the widow’s peak became more prominent as he grew older, too. Some of his ideas, his pragmatism, were Wilhuff’s. There was also the clear knowledge, at times, that if it hadn’t been the senate floor he would have – literally – ripped someone’s throat out. Mon Mothma had seen August bloodied more times than either of them liked to admit.


When the Empire was fighting for power, they were also fighting for him. Against him. She remembered Liberation Day. She had been shot, of course.


August, too, had been wounded – but he also killed a good number of others. Innocents. That day had been horrendous, a true show of why the Empire needed to fall – for good. They had gotten in the minds of innocents and turned them on the New Republic. Programmed them.


“But I admit, I did invite you here to do more than reminiscence.”


“I know,” he wasn’t at all surprised, nor bothered, “We’ll be friends once you step down, but we have the business of the Republic to conduct, don’t we?”  


“Yes,” and she leaned forward, sitting her drink on the small, circular table between them, “Stay, August.”


The words – spoken so firmly, had him straighten in his seat. “Why would I ever leave?”


Mon Mothma did not explain herself. It was just the feeling she had, “We are not done with this war. I may have disarmed the New Republic, and the Populists may indeed wish to see more disarmament all around, but you must not let them slack. You must stay as a physical reminder.”


He knew, then, what she meant.



Use the name Wilhuff Tarkin. Remind them what happened when worlds disarmed. When worlds grew weak and passive. ‘Remind them of the Doctrine. Play the villain.’ And that would be hard. That would get tiring. But they would hear it, and he would win over neutral planets easily enough.


“If you’re so certain we aren’t done, you shouldn’t step down.”


She shook her head, “I will be dead by the time of the next war. I hope.”


He couldn’t share the smile. He couldn’t hope with her. He was going to live to it, apparently. “They weren’t defeated on Jakku. They just fled into the shadows. You, I, and Pandion,” she saw the way his eyes rolled. The way his posture relaxed in a way that suggested insult, “yes, Pandion, know what they may be out there for. Tashu escaped us.”


“They won’t listen to the ravings of a madman.” He wanted to believe it. He didn’t. “It doesn’t exist,” he decided to say instead.


“Perhaps not, but they ran,” she spoke evenly, “It may be centuries before they return, but they will return, and the senate must be vigilant. You, and your line, must not forget.”


“And will you be telling your replacement, too?”


“Yes,” she said, and August’s look softened. Accepting. “Chandrila will be ready, August, when we go to war – but don’t think we’ll be easy to convince into it.”


“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirked, “You were more the mouthpiece anyway. We’ll be ready for war. You run the PR campaign, and take in the lost souls I throw to you.”


“I will take every man without a star.”


“You were on Dathomir recently, weren’t you?” He laughed as he heard that saying, one he hadn’t heard in many years. A zabrak bounty hunter had told it to him, once, some woman who did a job for him, when he asked how it had been done. She’d said she had found a ‘man without a star’ and gave him one.


Mon just winked.

 

[Lucyfer]

Queen's Court
​

 
​

Julia Harro had been planning her approach for a while now, and had decided to make it on the day that Eriadu celebrated its ‘founding’ by the Tarkin family. She was amongst the crowd in Eriadu City, back from the Academy on Coruscant. Back from a future that was no longer possible with the Galactic Empire overthrown, and August Tarkin – the heir of the Tarkin name – making moves to establish their presence in the New Republic.


She was near the front of the crowd. Every year, every morning on that day, there was a moment to reflect on the history, on what Eriadu had been. Everyone knew what it had been from the Carrion Plateau which, though it was the private land of the Tarkins, just about everyone from Eriadu had snuck onto it. That included Julia, who decided she was never doing that again after only getting to the edge of one of the forests and seeing one of the giant spiders.


She had dashed out of there quick as lightning.


Like the Carrion though, the most eligible bachelor in the entire Outer Rim had that dangerous allure to him. Nearly 30 now, he walked out onto the dais to perform the required task of speaking patriotically about his home, as he had done every year since Jova and Wilhuff had passed.



He was normally seen in black or dark colors, but on this day he always added a flair of color. Burgundy, purple, and a deep teal blue – the colors of their planet. The suit itself was that blue color, still reminiscent of the Imperial uniform in its styling. The burgundy and purple swirled in his tie, over a black backdrop. From where she stood, she could make out those details.


Could see the Imperial emblem he wore, still.


His ideals were still those of the Empire. A strong and central government. A powerful military – the Tarkin Doctrine was still lived by. Eriadu and the entire sector was well protected, thanks to the many Imperial families who stuck together. The ones where the rivalries didn’t tear them to pieces, instead. August didn’t seem to be a man out to make petty rivalries, either.


‘He also got the better looks.’ Julia thought to herself as he began to speak. His lips weren’t as thin as Wilhuff’s. His sunken cheeks were there, but not as prominent. It angled his face, making his features sharp. Added a bit of a shadow under his blue eyes, but it just made them stand out to her, like blue fire.



She knew that she was only infatuated, but they had similarities enough for her to want to risk quite a bit on this infatuation. He was a public figure – so much about him was known. It was part of the problem, as well. She was well aware of how many women he’d turned away. He was desired, and he knew it.



There was no innocence to him. No modesty.


‘There it is.’ People started to clap as his speech came to an end, and she applauded as well, then stalked his path off the stage. She moved quick as she could, not hindered much by her heels.


She broke free from the crowd to find him walking off with that rodian guard of his. “Governor Tarkin!” She had to stay on track. She wasn’t going to just let him wave her off.


He turned, eyebrows lifted, and she smiled at him, “I wanted to personally thank you for overseeing so many of Eriadu’s changes. You’ve steered her as well as I hear you steer boats along the Orrineswa.”


He didn’t seem impressed, but she wasn’t expecting that, “Thank you,” he said, polite, but cold. “Is there something that you need, though?”


“Yes. I want to take to you to dinner.” As the exasperation started to paint his face, she said, “I’m paying. You’re coming with me.” Needed to prove she wasn’t here for his money. Not that she wasn’t interested in it – she’d be lying to say she wasn’t, but she was interested in ambitious men who cut their path. August came from a blue-blooded family, but not one that was standard. No, his family didn’t rest on their laurels – they continued to struggle. To make changes. And she admired it. Admired him, always from afar.


“What is your name?”


“Julia Harro. My family was governor when Wilhuff was away,” though she saw the recognition of the name, Harro. Eriadu’s old names were always known.


“My apologies, I should have recognized you,” he shook his head, as if embarrassed by the slight. “I’m afraid I am a bit too busy – ”


“An hour.” She insisted. “At the Spiked. You’re going to be there anyway, correct?”


Yes, he was. He had a love-hate affair with that bar, but he always ended up there during celebrations. “You’ve done your research,” he noted.


“Yes,” she wasn’t going to deny it, dared to say, “One should always research any challenge, no?”


Now that got a smirk from him, and that thrilled Julia to bits to see some reaction that wasn’t his well-practiced politicking. “Very well. I will see you at the Spiked this evening, Miss Harro.”


“I’m looking forward to it.” And she truly was, but left him then. He probably did have important things to tend to, in order to make sure the festivities went off without a hitch. Julia had to go prepare herself, even as she wanted to jump in delight that she had at least advanced to the next step. Sure, lots of people probably had – August dated, and the newspapers were never quiet about it, but still!


So of course, that night, she made sure to stand out, wearing a gown of dark purple that shimmered in the light of the fireworks that erupted over the Spiked. All around, people could be heard shouting, talking, and wooping it up, while August stood outside the Spiked in the gated area – rodian still with him.


He sipped at whiskey on ice and Julia brought him another glass just as his was running empty. “Here you are, Governor.” She had a glass of wine.


“I thought you got cold feet,” he noted, taking the glass and sipping the burning liquid.



“Never,” she said, “I’ve been waiting for this for years.” She saw him roll his eyes, “Oh yes, I’m sure you hear it from everyone, and I’m sure it’s true from everyone.”


“And you’re going to say you’re different from all of them.” Something had jaded him. She wondered what it was.


“No,” she said, “I’m going to prove it.” She didn’t sit at the nearby table, but leaned on the wall near him instead, looking up at the flashing colors in the sky. “I’ve always loved our world, you know,” spoken just loud enough to be heard over the music and explosions. “I went into the Carrion, once.”


“Oh?”


“I ran out as soon as I saw one of those large spiders.”


That smirk again. “What do you want to eat?”


“Just a burger,” he said. Didn’t really care what meat, it seemed, as he offered no further instructions. Julia left him to place the order, wracking her brain for the best way to break that cold exterior of his.


The food would be brought out when it was done, so she was able to return, meal and his drinks paid for, to find he was now sitting at the table. The fireworks mostly done. She calmly took the seat across from him, and he spoke first this time, cutting off any question she might have had, “You know about me. Tell me about yourself. Where did you go to school? What do you do?”


She didn’t let the dual questions startle her. “I’m currently a TIE fighter in the Eriadu air force – I went to the Academy on Coruscant. Besides being a TIE fighter, I’m researching ways we can improve the TIEs, and how we could add light shields to them that won’t hinder their movement or firepower.”


“Crystals,” he said dismissively.


“Yes,” she agreed, “but kybers won’t work for it, and stygium crystals are too rare.” There. There was a flash of interest. “Besides, I’m not sure their useful for anything besides cloaking, and TIEs don’t need to be cloaked. I’ve been thinking nova crystals. If we could process them correctly, we could increase their output…and I’ve heard they’re very explosive. That could work just as well as kyber crystals for a weapon, too, without needing some Force sensitive to make it more so, or the type of genius of an Erso.”


“Well, we’d need that sort of genius to process the novas correctly to make shields.” Not weapons, though. This was…interesting. He hadn’t even considered them for weapons, either. They were too unstable.


“We’ve been working on it already. I floated the idea by a few of your researchers already – the ones working on the Revenant’s cloaking systems,” she winked, saw him frown a bit. “I think the novas could work well in the Executrix.”


“Imperatrix,” he corrected. “She is hardly the same ship that Wilhuff had.”


“My mistake,” she inclined her head. “I thought you would have kept the name in memory.”


The conversation flowed easily then, discussing crystals, TIEs, and eventually cycling to their time on the Academy, though in different years. He spoke of what it was like to be there during the Emperor’s reign, and she spoke of the end, when she was among those who had to flee – education completed, but on Coruscant looking for a job in the Empire. Then it fell, and she fled home.


He never got deep into the subject, and Julia could see there was more to why Eriadu was less active in its support of the Emperor after Wilhuff’s death. That there was more to August’s choice to align with the New Republic than safety. She got a glimpse of it, in speaking of hypotheticals.


“Do you think they were Siths?” His thin lips became much thinner. “You were close to Wilhuff – he was close to them. What did he have to say?”


His eyes tracked her, but she held her blue eyes on him. He redirected, “You’ve been talking an awful lot about the past. Isn’t it the future you’re concerned with?”


She allowed the redirection. “What are you looking for in a partner, August?”


“A partner,” he answered, as if it could be that simple. Perhaps, in his eyes, it was. The problem was finding someone who could keep up with him. He held her gaze, “Someone who wants children. Someone who intends to stay on Eriadu. Someone who can make difficult decisions and who I can trust to lead our people if I am unable to. Someone who cares about the world, not the luxe,” she was hanging on his words of what he wanted, unaware she was leaning closer, “Someone who likes good wine and dark comedies,” she didn’t realize he had leaned forward, as well, arms crossing over the table, “But most of all, someone I will respect.”


And when he pulled back, it felt like her breath was all but taken from her, as she became aware again, “And what are you looking for, Julia?”


‘You.’


She didn’t say that. “Someone who wants children,” they were alike there. She wanted children, sons and daughters, an army of children. She hadn’t come from a large family, but she always wanted it, “Someone who aspires for greatness and won’t rest on their laurels. Someone never satisfied with luxury,” she matched his smile, “Someone who loves Eriadu and will risk everything for it,” she raised her glass, “and good wine and dark comedies are a start, but I do prefer the opera,” shamelessly grinned, “the Core sees that as more respectable, and there are a lot of Opera stars I follow.”



She saw him roll his eyes, “You hush.”


“It’s overrated.”


“You haven’t seen Nav act. The passion she puts into her roles…I want to see her as Cora.”


“Ah.”


“Hm?”


“The Cantata of Cora Vessora,” he said, “Palpatine liked it. I suspect some of the Sith rumors come from there.”


“No you don’t.” She said it almost without thinking, and saw the surprise run across his face. “I saw how you reacted when I asked about it. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” easy smile, “You can tell me when you trust me.”


“When…,” he repeated the word like he was tasting it. “You are audacious, aren’t you?”


He didn’t tell her, then. They talked till close, and she ended up walking him home. “Would you like to come in?”


“No,” Julia knew he would invite her in. She knew where that would go, and even if she did want it, she also knew the fate of those who followed that path. No, she would not go in. She would not enjoy a night with him. She’d make him wait for that. “It was a good evening, August,” she said, “but I have work to do tomorrow. I don’t get to take it off.”


He frowned, and suddenly, he looked uncertain. As if he’d done something wrong. He wasn’t rejected often. “I…see.”


It was almost cute seeing him turn away, confused, and Julia stepped forward as his hand touched the knob without even saying goodbye. He glanced back as his hand twisted it and she touched his cheek, pulled herself up and kissed him, hard.


The door opened as his weight fell against it in the surprise, and he fell over the threshold onto his butt. Now Julia was the one blushing furiously, certain she’d messed everything with that as he stared up at her, his surprise unreadable. She wasn’t sure if he was furious or…curious. “So I have a spare ticket to the opera, next week. I’ll be here at 8 – next time I’ll make sure to find a dark comedy for us.” She spoke the words too quickly, stepped off the porch backwards, and then bolted.


She didn’t see how August remained on the floor for a few more seconds. Didn’t see how color started to paint his face, before he laughed to himself and touched his lip to find blood from where her teeth had cut in, when he fell. That was…new. Women were often forward with him, but not like that.


He liked it. ‘All right, Julia.’ She had her second date. Not that he had the opportunity to refuse her.

 

[Lucyfer]

[SIZE= 22px]Liberation Day[/SIZE]
​

“Over here, August!” Seig Keil waved to the ginger man as they began to work through the crowd present for Mon Mothma’s speech, and what was meant to be the start of peace talks with the Empire – as led by Rae Sloane, Grand Admiral. He knew that rubbed most of his companions the wrong way, like Grand General Adelaide Keil, who stood besides her new husband with a smile on her lips.


August never understood how those two came together. Keil was a good man – smart, clever, but mild. It seemed a case of opposites attracting, down to the that dark, ruffled mess of hair on his head and the glasses, compared to Adelaide’s formal bun and perfect vision.


But he liked Seig. Seig had accepted him as a friend, and understood he was no threat, something most men did not understand when it came to Adelaide.


“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to show up with the Grand Moff,” the nickname would stick, forever, thanks to Jarrod’s father’s idiocy of trying to claim the title and dying shortly afterwards. Which was why Jarrod had a gun hidden on him – he was going to try and shoot Rae. August had no intention of stopping him, either. He wanted to see her dead. She was defiling the name of the Empire. “I thought you two hated each other?” Adelaide said.


“Did,” August agreed.


“We’ve worked through it.”


“Oh?” Seig glanced between the two, glanced to Adelaide, “Is that why August was never a threat?”


Adelaide shook her head quickly, as Pandion flushed several shades of red, “We are not together.”


“Oh,” he knew that, of course, adjusted his glasses a bit and grinned, “Sorry, I just can’t believe August is still single.”  


“I can,” Adelaide and Jarrod both muttered, both for different reasons. August glared at both before turning his attention to the front as Mon Mothma walked out to speak to the crowd, that admiration catching in his gaze again.


“Narcissist,” he heard Adelaide mutter to Seig, “See how he looks at other red-heads?”


And Seig nodded sagely, playing the ‘straight man’ and ‘naïve’ so well, just to amuse Adelaide. “Where is she?” He heard Jarrod hiss, and August nudged him. When Jarrod looked, he followed August’s eyes to a balcony, where Rae Sloane was sitting with her aide. “Not yet,” August whispered, hushed. He didn’t want Jarrod shooting her amongst the crowd, but they could track her after this.


Except, the ‘after this’ was not what anyone was expecting.


August felt it moments before the chaos unleashed. A shift in too many postures. One man on stage also looked suddenly dazed, and August found himself stepping closer to Seig.


Then, as one, people around them started to draw out small guns. “What—”


“Rae!” And August shoved Seig to the ground as something clipped his ear, head. Jarrod let out a cry, and Mon hit the ground, hard, as someone wrestled the man on the stage down. August wanted to rush the stage to save her, save this fledgling Republic, but someone grabbed the back of his shirt by the collar and he was shoved down. When he looked up he saw a bloody Pandion moving away, and Adelaide helping Seig up.


He got up quick before he could be trampled amidst the chaos, “Get him out of here,” August didn’t have to tell Adelaide twice, once he was on his feet and safe. Seig was practically clinging to Adelaide, eyes wide in horror.


August didn’t go with them. Blood was rushing through his ear, and he had to find Pandion in this mess. He knew that the man was trying to make a last-ditch effort to get at Rae, and he didn’t blame him, at all. However, now was hardly the time.


‘Thank you.’ He noted one of the people with a gun downed, and he picked it up immediately and moved on, quickly making sense of the chaos. Those who had been prisoners of the Lock were the ones affected, and they were all in a uniform that day – there to receive honor and medals of sorts. The liberated ones.


The ones this day was named after. ‘Pandion….’


He shot through the back of one’s head, never seeing the glazed look on their face as they were coming down, their own blaster bolts exhausted. He made sure to shove innocents out of the way. He caught one mother yelling at her daughter, while her stomach was opened by a bolt. Bleeding. The mother was shaking, hands on the daughter's shoulder, yelling and crying as she started to slip.


The rebel daughter just had a lifeless look to her eyes, holding the blaster down, in both hands. Dressed like one of the Lock's prisoners. August was startled by that sight, but he still managed to see the movement of another prisoner nearby. They wheeled on him, and August turned to shoot them. Then he heard an inhuman shriek and saw it was coming from that daughter, who saw the blood on her own clothing. Saw her mother slumped on the ground.


it was mercy, more than anything, that caused August to shoot her.


And then there was an arm around his neck and he was almost pulled off the ground as he was pulled back. He struggled as his oxygen was cut off, but someone intervened, clocking whoever held him. He was roughly released but managed to keep his feet. When he looked back, he saw a rebel meet his gaze, and saw a prisoner on the ground. He glanced down and fired a bolt into their head. "What the hell?" The rebel started, but August moved off before they could say anything more. He still had to find Pandion in this mess.


He moved on, fighting his way to where he saw Pandion, until pain startled him and he actually let out a cry as he dropped in the crowd, a blaster bolt having penetrated his right hip. ‘Ow, ow, ow, fucking ow.’ He looked for the culprit, and saw someone behind him looking horrified, but holding the gun.


The ‘horrified’ part didn’t really compute. August found enough hate and adrenaline to twist himself around and shoot the person through the head.


Then, someone was grabbing his arm, pulling him up. Pandion. He threw an arm over his shoulders and tried to keep his weight off the injured hip as Pandion helped move him through the crowd. “You just had to get shot again.”


“I was going after you.” And Pandion was wounded, too, but they made it out of the chaos on Chandrila together, found an alley to settle into as the screaming wound down, to lick their wounds. “Did you get her?”


“No,” Pandion said, rolling the wounded shoulder. “I saw her fall. I don’t think she could have survived that.” But they both knew the truth. She would. Rather like August, Sloane knew how to take her hits. Sloane pulled off miracles. “How did she…August, they weren’t all there.”


“I know.” It started to settle then. The horrified look wasn’t one of horror that August lived. That the shot missed its mark. It was the look of someone realizing what they’d done. He’d killed them. He’d killed several of them. “Chips. Like at Kashyyyk, they were all in a prison there. They must have implanted control chips—”


“That doesn’t make any sense and you know it. The chips in the wookies were more like the bombs used on Tatooine to keep slaves in line.” That’s what they were, after all. Slaves, “Just programmed to go off at a hint of aggression.”


August looked up to Pandion. “What then? We don’t have that kind of technology?”


“They dreamt. They all spoke of nightmares,” Pandion said. “Perhaps…subliminal programming?”


“To go off at this moment?” It seemed like a stretch. Even for Sloane.


“I don’t know!” Pandion said, then groaned and let his head hit the back of the wall of the building, across from August. “We’re in so much fucking trouble.”


“No we’re not.”


“We killed them.”


“No one is going to fault us for it.” Except, of course, they did. No one politically did, there were no repercussions. It was self-defense, after all, but August would receive his share of tongue lashings from some of the bleeding hearts that had served in the Rebel Alliance. “You shoved me down, didn’t you?”


“They were going to kill you. I think you were one of their main targets,” along with Mon Mothma and others.


‘Mon….’ Hopefully, she was all right.


“Thank you.” Exhaled. August shut his eyes. The next time they opened, he would be in a Chandrila hospital, with Seig and Adelaide waiting for him to wake. All the blame would fall on Rae Sloane, she would be accused as the orchestrator of this mass chaos, and August hated her all the more for it.


The Empire was never about chaos. ‘Unless you were Palpatine…..’ And he wondered – feared, for a few months, that perhaps Palpatine had lived. That it wasn’t just a lie the Empire was spreading. He had his own nightmares for a while, always, of the daughter with her dead mother at her feet.

 

[Lucyfer]

Three Year Hope
​

“Greeeen.”


The word slipped gleefully from the lips of young Rey as she pressed her face to the window of the ship that Luke Skywalker was piloting towards Kashyyyk. Han Solo and Leia Organa had invited him to join them for Life Day, which had resumed its celebration of occurring every three years, instead of annually. After much badgering about wanting to see her son, Luke had caved and decided to bring all of the young padawans with him. They could see another world flourishing in life, and see how the wookies understood the Force. Its life.


“They’re so large!” Myka was saying, practically jumping on her tiptoes as she looked out at it all, right besides Rey, her designated ‘watcher’ since Ben was sulking. Ben was always sulking, apparently not thrilled to see his parents or Chewbacca. While the others all looked excitedly out at the approaching world, Ben was sitting with his legs up before the round table that played a holochess game.


Ceres was near, of course. Always the one who stayed at his side when others wouldn’t, and stoic. Luke thought she was making progress on those emotional issues she had, even if it was…troubling, in some ways, how she seemed to actually be deadening her emotions to nothing, rather than controlling them.


Rey ran to the door of the ship and tried to pull it open before the ship was settled down, but Myka quickly ran to catch her, pulling her back while giggling, “Rey, we’re gonna go soon! Just wait.”


Rey fussed, but she eventually settled. “All right, we’re here,” Luke called, and the door opened before Rey and Myka. Myka let Rey go, and she ran down the ramp immediately, pausing just as suddenly when she found herself looking up into so many furry faces. Her expression seemed to go completely blank, before Chewbacca moved through the crowd and picked her right up. She giggled and latched onto him, as the rest of the padawans descended the ramp, as did Luke, and, with him, Ben and Ceres.


“There you are, kiddo,” Han spoke first, and Ben glanced up, but it was Luke he was speaking to as he walked to him with that smuggler’s swagger and canted his head, “Growing out a beard, huh? Or did you just lose your razor?” He touched his own face, smooth, brushing his chin, “Hey, Leia, you think I’d look good with a beard?”


“Hush, Han,” Leia moved right by him, smiled to Luke, but went right to Ben and pulled him into an embrace that he clearly wasn’t expecting. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Ben!”


Luke was answering Han, “Growing it out,” he said. “I think it looks good.”


“Makes you look older,” Han said, “Like…50.”


Luke grinned and shoved Han, who shoved back, before they pulled each other into an embrace, “Been too long, kid. You need to get out more.”


“I know.”


“Uh huh,” he patted Luke on the back and then let him go, looking to Leia and his son, and the blonde standing off to the side, hands behind her back, looking as rigid as an Imperial officer. With Leia asking Ben a thousand and one questions and fussing over his hair, Han decided to let her – he’d interrupt soon enough and spare Ben the interrogation and hugs.


Hardly the scared little girl anymore, but he did remember her. “Hey,” she looked from Ben and Leia to him when he clicked his tongue after the word, “Doin’ all right?” Nod. Quiet. “Ben helping you out?” Another nod. “You say much anymore?” He saw the flicker of a grin, and then, defiantly, she shook her head. He chuckled at that, if only for that brief grin, before he turned to Leia and Ben.


Time to join the awkward. “Ben, what have you been doing to your girlfriend – she won’t say anything!”


Ben looked up rapidly, and Leia covered her lips, tried to pass the smuggler a scolding look. “She’s not my girlfriend!” Ben said immediately, glanced to Ceres, confused. He hadn’t been paying attention when his mother asked him about what he was eating with Luke.


Luke started to turn away then, but Leia made sure to catch his shoulder and turn him before he could join the padawans that were starting to spread out, and plant a kiss on his cheek, before patting his shoulder and letting him drift off. They’d catch up later.


“I know, I know, I’m just teasing you,” Han said, “You’re starting to grow into my good looks. It’s a shame Luke has you isolated out there – you’d be a regular heartbreaker. We need to get you out more before you don’t know what to do with all the girls that are going to be fawning over you.”


Leia hit his shoulder, and he grinned at her. “No, Han. I don’t want him ending up like you.”


“But you like me, princess.”


Playful little grin. “Are things going well for both of you?” Leia asked. She had already asked Ben, of course, who gave a long-suffering sigh.


“Yes,” he reiterated. And Ceres nodded.


“I think she became mute,” Han noted.


Leia rolled her eyes and walked over to her, as she heard Lando start to shout, “Hey, you two are missing—Ben?” And then heard Lando come jogging over to them, “By all the stars, it is Ben!” And Leia just pulled Ceres into an embrace as Lando moved by Han to ruffle Ben’s hair.


He ducked right after the hand made contact, “You’re getting as scruffy as your uncle. C’mon, kid, let’s get you a haircut while we’re here – plenty of people skilled in it, though you wouldn’t guess it from the sights.”


“I like it long!” Ben protested, just as Leia let Ceres go. She pulled Ben under her arm protectively, kept Ceres under the other, a mother hen. Or bear, perhaps, more aptly.


“That’s enough, you two.”


“Oh, hello,” Lando noticed the other one, “Ben, you got a girlfriend and didn’t tell me?”


“She’s not.” He was getting very annoyed with this.


“No? Well then, what is your name?” He teased. Leia rolled her eyes – always Lando. Both him and Han were scoundrels and nearly irredeemable scoundrels.


“Ceres Mandon,” she introduced.


“Well, I’m Lando Calrissian – Bespin. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, but I haven’t had the pleasure yet of hearing of you.”


Just to see how Ben bristled, and shoot Han a grin at it as Ben decided to add, “Heard that you betrayed my family.”


Lando took it in stride, “And redeemed myself, saved my world, and was a general against the Empire.”


“She and Ben are Luke’s favorites,” the way Han said it meant exactly the opposite, and Lando arched a brow at that as Leia pushed on both of their backs to lead them on, “Hey, don’t go too far on your own, okay? Kashyyyk is a huge forest, I don’t want you getting lost.”


“I won’t,” Ben said.


“Same to you, Ceres!”


And then Leia had gotten them towards the safety of the mass of wookies and the other padawans, “Wait here,” she told the pair of them before wandering off.


Ceres glanced to Ben then, who had his arms folded over his chest, scowling. “Why aren’t you happy?”


He just shook his head, clearly not wanting to get into it.


“You’ve missed them.” He spoke of it, now and again, during fits of anger. How abandoned he felt.


“Yeah,” he said, “And so I have to come here to see them. They don’t come to me.” Not often enough for his liking, apparently. “And even now my father just wants to chat with Lando, and my mom…,” but before he could complete the thought, he was almost thrown forward by the tiny ball of energy that was Rey jumping onto his back.


“Tauntaun!” She said, gripping his black hair as he was forced to catch each of her legs to hold her up, and himself up. His eyes were wide as his head was yanked up by the pulling.


A wookie roared from behind them, and scooped Rey up immediately, before an apology was managed on her behalf.


“It’s all right, Chewbacca,” Ben muttered. Myka came up right behind Chewbacca then.


He asked about Han. “With Uncle Lando.”


Chewbacca seemed annoyed by that, “Landoooo,” Rey stretched out the sound, then turned it into a “uuu”, and giggled. “I wanna climb the trees!” Chewbacca denied her, and carried on, thanking Ben for the information about Han.


Leia returned then through the crowd, “Here,” she offered cups to the two of them, a steaming blue liquid within, “It’s just some warm milk,” she said, “but I sweetened it with a bit of the native honey,” she took a seat then on one of the downed trees, and gestured for both of them to join her, knowing that neither of them were as excitable as some of Luke’s other padawans.


Despite the need of ‘control’ Luke always preached about, these two seemed to actually have it. At least, currently – the other padawans were off being wide-eyed explorers. “I want to tell you how things have been,” she said, figuring if she opened up some, maybe those two would.


They both sat with her, and they were interrupted throughout the night, by Lando, Luke, Han – everyone, who wanted to come meet Leia’s son, of course. They didn’t get to talk much with all the interruptions, but Leia was glad just to be close, and to watch the fireworks above Kashyyyk with her son, before he would be taken away from her by Luke again. Off to his training. And she, back to work with the Senate. Han, to his racing teams.


How she missed them all…thank the Force for Life Day, though. It brought all of her loved ones together, again. And, she told herself, it would do so in another three years.

 

[Lucyfer]

[SIZE= 22px]Idol[/SIZE]
​

“—so says the Imperial bred Governor of Eriadu.”


August’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the sides of his repulsorpod and glared at the twi’lek who spoke down to him, interrupting his words of allocating funding towards a more centralized New Republic military.


The red-haired man bristled. The moderator droid started to speak, but August spoke over him, “And what would you prefer, Senator Char’lee?” He snapped at the woman, “I have proposed funding for sectors. I have proposed funding for rims. I am now proposing funding for the New Republic itself, which will no doubt end up only supporting the Core – but I have proposed it nonetheless. We need a military. Senator Keil—”


“Well, of course Senator Keil supports you,” the twi’lek rolled her eyes, bared her sharp teeth, “you’re Imperials. The war is over, Senator Tarkin, we should be funding things besides more machines of death.”


“I have proposed funding for research.”


“Utilizing kyber crystals.”


The moderator droid spoke then, “Senator Casterfo of Riosa, acknowledged to take the floor.” August turned his head immediately as the blonde in all his velvets and silks came onto the screens. He didn’t look at the screen, though, but sought the other out amongst the many pods.


He was hearing that name more and more. Ransolm Casterfo – the ‘darling’ of the Centrists, though August hadn’t once heard him speak in the Senate yet. “Senators, if you would please heed me – I know that Governor Tarkin,” August couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. He preferred Governor Tarkin. He had loftier titles, but he was akin to Wilhuff in that way. His world came first. He was Governor first. “is touching on sensitive topics in regards to kyber crystals and war machines. However, we cannot ignore the fact that there does remain chaos in the Outer Rims from pirates and we do not know where the First Order has vanished to when they left us. Governor Tarkin is keenly aware of the situation in the Outer Rim, and he has filed numerous reports of pirate activity. From what I understand, Governor Tarkin and Senator Keil are the leading forces protecting the Outer Rim.”


“They seem to be doing a good job,” the twi’lek sniffed.


“They are,” Ransolm smiled, charming, “but is it not our duty to be prepared to protect all of our citizens? Not from war, but pirates, smugglers, spice traders, and others who would try to cause our citizens harm. If we are not to fund more weapons, perhaps we could allocate the funding to the New Republic’s galactic enforcement. We could hire more people and fund more ships so that the New Republic’s influence has a greater reach.”


This seemed to be considered. Murmurings around the hall. Then, that irksome voice – August knew they were on the same side, but some reason, the Senator from Arkanis always grated on him. Perhaps it was because of her praise for Commandant Hux who, if August were lucky, was dead. He wasn’t lucky, though. “I second this motion. We should fund the galactic enforcement better!”


‘How is this not centralizing the military by giving the New Republic greater reach?’ But August didn’t ask the stupid question. He let the politicians begin to weigh in on it, and the funds they had to allocated did, in fact, end up allocated to it. In part. The other funding was put to some useless construction project, but August voted it through. It wasn’t a fight worth making. He was doing his own research on kybers, anyway, thanks to the crystals that Pandion was able to provide from Lothal.


There weren’t many, but it was better than nothing.


As the senate was called to an end, August made sure to wait near the exit for the man in the green capelet. He raised his hand, “Senator Casterfo. A moment?”


Casterfo gave a nod to Sindian, and then approached August, “I apologize for interrupting your conversation with Senator Char’lee.”


Before he could get another word out, August interrupted, “Don’t. I was getting heated,” he stated, dismissing it, “I wanted to thank you, actually. Would you walk with me?”


“Of course,” he almost looked like a child given a present on Life Day, and he fell in step.


“There aren’t enough of us who are able to think quick enough to de-escalate that kind of situation. I understand now why I’ve been hearing about you.”


“You’ve heard of me?” Before then, obviously. “Why – thank you. I have been a long time admirer of you, and your family,” he admitted, “the Tarkin Doctrine was one of the good things to come out of the Empire. Your uncle,”


“Cousin.”


“Cousin – my apologies, I’ve heard you refer to him as uncle.”


“He was like one to me.” August said, “but by blood he was my cousin.”


August let him keep talking then, “Of course, there were flaws to it – but the ideas of portioning the universe and setting up moffs, the clear hierarchy, and the military presence, were all good ideas.”


“And you believe they were Wilhuff’s?”


“Were they not?” He asked, curious.


August’s lips formed a thin smile. “They were, of course – but they were shared by the Emperor and others. He just put it to words and the Doctrine was named after him, forever staining my name when I suggest anything that resembles it, because it was a part of the Empire.”


The Senator of Riosa sighed, “I know. It is…petty. The Populists refuse to acknowledge that there was anything good about the Empire, as so many Centrists refuse to acknowledge there was anything good about the Republic.”


“And yet here they are, in a Senate.”



The two shared a laugh at that, and when it settled, Casterfo asked, “Is it true – what they say about you?”


“Which thing?”


“The…Carrion Trial.”


‘Ah.’ He thought it would be something about the battle of Jakku, or even rumors he had assassinated a few people. That he asked about his home and the trial was a bit more…interesting. “Yes. After Wilhuff cleared the trial of the Spike, a new one had to be created. It’s become the river.”


“I see.”


“Why do you ask?”


“Well, it’s only…,” he gave him a once over, and an embarrassed smile, “I never thought someone like you would have great survival capabilities.” Tall and gaunt. He didn’t strike him as a survivor, so he started to think those rumors about Eriadu’s trial were lies.


“Is that the pot calling the kettle black?”


“What do you mean?”


“Your hands are manicured, Senator.”


The challenge was in the air. “I’m one of the best with a vibrostave.”


“Really?”


“Yes.”


“Fine. I’ll take that bet.”


Ransolm blinked. “Um.” August was at least a decade older than him. It didn’t seem fair.


“I have a few in my apartment here. There’s a garden on the roof we can use. Unless you’re afraid?”


Ransolm tilted his chin up. “Not in the least, I’m just concerned you might break your hip.”


August led him on towards the towering building on Hosnian Prime, and the pair went to the penthouse floor, where August grabbed a couple of staves while sending Ransolm up to the garden. He arrived with them, and tossed one to Ransolm, carelessly shedding his senatorial tunic, leaving him topless to show that though gaunt, he was not at all untoned.


Ransolm shed his capelet and his top as well, folding them nicely off to the side. He regretted not having a change of pants. Off went the shoes, though – unlike August’s, they were not military grade. They were dress shoes that slipped about without good traction. He was broader of build, but not nearly as soft as his hands implied.


He twirled the stave in his hand, nodded, “Well-weighted.”


“Of course they are – they’re mine and my son’s.”


“Son?” He had forgotten, smiled a bit, “Johann, isn’t it?”


“Yes.”


“You train with your son?”


“Yes.” Many weapons. Johann was soon to go into the Carrion with him, he needed to be able to use anything at hand to survive. “Now, let’s see if you’re any better than him.” And August moved in first, and swung the stave out more like a sword than a stave – gripping the end with both hands and lashing out. Ransolm guarded, and guarded again as August twisted his own body around to keep the momentum going, and lashed out again.


August pulled it back in closer to him now that he was much closer to Ransolm’s range, hands spread more evenly over the stave, and he tried to thrust it into his gut, but Ransolm stepped aside, quickly realizing August was not the sort to wait to be put on the defensive and look for an opening. Perhaps the rumors were true – the Tarkins took to the offense as the best defense.


He was going to have time to calculate strategy. He stepped out to put distance again and saw August again adjust his hands. This time, Ransolm didn’t guard, but ducked the blow, stepping closer. As August pulled the stave back, Ransolm sent the end of his stave into the center of August’s chest, hard.


He saw a glint of anger, and admiration, when August took a step back. It gave Ransolm pause, wondering if that was it – only then to realize they hadn’t discussed an end. He took the next strike for that error, feeling the hard sting as August’s stave cracked against his hip and staggered him, nearly made him bend the knee.


This went on for a few more minutes, with the pair of them ending up taunting and laughing through it, before August finally got the upper hand with a dirty trick. Ransolm found himself pressed back against August, stave at his throat and pressing on it, hard, as August managed to hold him in place.


“Oh my.” A feminine voice, and then lighter steps. “I told you, I wanted another ginger for my birthday, August.”


August immediately let Ransolm go as Johann came running up to them, Julia following behind. “There it is!” Johann looked at Ransolm and the stave, held out a hand, “May I please have my stave back?” He ignored his mother's comment completely. He'd learned quite young that his mother liked to make those kinds of comments, and she never meant them. She just liked the looks on other people's faces.


“Yes, of course,” Ransolm was flushed from lack of air and the dark-haired woman’s comment. ‘Julia.’ He handed the stave to the kid as the woman walked to them and wrapped an arm rather possessively around August’s shoulders. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Tarkin.”


“Mrs?” She laughed, “Just Tarkin. Or Julia – I don’t have any fancy titles,” she said, “You’re Senator Casterfo, correct?”


“Yes, I am.”


“Are you staying for dinner?”


“Ah, no, I’m afraid I’m going to the opera tonight.”


“Oh!” She immediately let August go, who rolled his eyes behind her back, glanced down to Johann, who also just shook his head, as if to say it was totally expected, but still annoying. He smirked to him. “Favorite star?”


“Well that would have to be Tzina,” he said with a wistful sigh, “She stole my heart when I saw her as Ignia in the Chalice and Altar,” he confessed, as if he was speaking of a lost love.


Julia clasped her hands together, “Oh, I saw that! She was very skilled!”


“Father,” Johann whispered, “Can we go?” Bored and impatient.


August gave a nod, but spoke up, “If you two will excuse us,” he inclined his head to them.


Ransolm flushed, a bit uncertain, “Ah, I should be going, you must want some time with your family.”


“My son,” he said, “My wife would no doubt enjoy your company over a bottle of wine – I don’t entertain her nearly enough when it comes to the opera.”


Ransolm blinked, “That doesn’t concern you?”


“Why should it?" August smirked, “You’re not a rapist, are you, Casterfo?”


“No!” Horrified he would even ask.



“Then we should be fine.” He trusted Julia completely.


“What about…,” he heard August laugh as the man turned away with Johann, and realized then that August really wasn’t concerned. At all. Not about the reputation, the potential for scandal. Not that Casterfo might try to woo her. Not that Julia would try to woo him.


His admiration of the man shot straight up. “You can leave your clothes off if you want,” Julia joked as she walked back towards the stairs that had brought her up.


He pulled his clothes on, and followed her, surprised at how easy it was to gossip politics and opera with her, without any sort of tension between them at all. He saw August and Johann pass through the room a couple of times, and he did leave before dinner – his head almost spinning at how effortless that had all seemed. He had expected August Tarkin to be as intimidating as Wilhuff…and perhaps he was, with his confidence, but being welcomed into his apartment like that almost made him seem…human.


Hardly the man from the senate floor, or the one from the rumors.


He’d enjoy more outings with Tarkin the future, and the two would end up building a friendship. Only it wouldn’t just be August – Julia would become his friend in her own right, as well, ignoring any scandal that popped up about the two as they went to the opera together.

 

[Lucyfer]

[SIZE= 22px]Fear Of The Unknown[/SIZE]
​

Mon Mothma sat regal in white, poised, with her hands clasped in her lap as she listened to Pandion speak. It was a mess of an explanation, stumbled over and unclear, but it boiled down to one thing: Emperor Palpatine believed that a nexus of power was in uncharted space. Palpatine had schemes of controlling reality itself, that had been revealed by August Tarkin months ago, along with some blueprints for other super weapons that she saw burnt.


Not that she didn’t believe August had copies.


“This is all theory.” Mon Mothma stated when Pandion finished.


“No,” August denied, and she looked right to him, eyes seeming to shoot through him like two daggers.


“And you know the Force, do you, August?”


“You do not, either,” he stated, calm, hands upon his lap, “None of us know the Force, but Palpatine did, and Palpatine was a stronger Force user than Master Yoda and the whole of the Jedi Council.”


“No, he was lucky.”


“Intuitive,” August corrected.


Mon Mothma was not pleased with these corrections, “Are you trying to imply that out there in Wild Space is the…entrance to the Force itself?” Mon Mothma wasn’t sure what other word to use for what Pandion seemed to be describing.


August let out a breath. “Listen to me, please,” he looked between them, deciding to take over Pandion’s poor explanation. “We know that us – humans – come in various levels of Force sensitivity. There are those like Pandion.”


‘Weak minded and weak willed.’


“Those who are not Force sensitive at all. There are those like us,” he met her eyes meaningfully, “those who can feel it, but can do nothing about it.” It made them more difficult to twist, but they couldn’t manipulate it at all. Wilhuff believed he was that way, anyway, jotted amongst his theorizations of the Force, the Jedi, and so many other things.


He believed that Mon’s charisma and empathy stemmed from her intuitive abilities. This feeling of how things were going to play out. “Then there are those like Leia Organa, who can commune with the Force,” Wilhuff’s words.


The words of those who did not understand. “Those like Luke, who can bend the Force to their will. Like Palpatine and Vader. There are levels to that. Palpatine was certainly more powerful than them, but people get…arrogant.”


Like Wilhuff.


“There are creatures that are Force-sensitive. There are inanimate objects that are Force-sensitive, like the kybers and various artifacts of the Jedi. There were those who believed all things had some measure of Force attachment to them, even things like the Hutts.” More musings of Wilhuff – that the Hutts were sensitive but that sensitivity extended to resisting, rather than being open to, the Force.


“And the theory goes that the Force is what people become when they die. Life returning to life,” he waved it off, “A stream of muddled consciousness that can gather…so why not have its presence on some world?”


“But what would it matter?” Mon Mothma said, not quite grasping it.


“Think of it like a kyber. Small ones can make lightsabers. Large ones can power suns. A world with that much Force running through it could allow a powerful Force user ample ability to manipulate the Force on a wide scale. Palpatine was already playing the Force like an opera. If he started to control worlds or locations where the Force was particularly strong, he’d have…access points to increase the size of his stage.”


“This is still just theorizing August,” she noted, “And you seem to understand this better than Pandion.”


Her implication was clear.


August crossed his arms on his lap and leaned forward, smiling. He didn’t deny the implications, but said, “I’m smarter than him.”


He felt Pandion’s glare burning through the back of his head. “It doesn’t matter, regardless. Palpatine sensed something out there. It might just be artifacts from the Sith exodus. It might be several small points that he couldn’t distinguish as separate…but you don’t believe it’s that simple, and neither do I.”


“What are we going to do about it, August? If we start searching….”


If we start searching….


August Tarkin stood on the Imperatrix, legs spread for balance as the final battle waged around Jakku. The Empire was retreating. Out, into regions unknown. The Nexu Pride was whooping their victory as the Ravager sunk to the sands, breaking apart, but August was not pleased.


Pandion’s call was allowed through. “We should pursue them, August.”


He shook his head. “No. We do not pursue.” He was meaning only them, of course. The New Republic would call this a victory. An expulsion of the Empire was enough. They would know to monitor it, but out there, not much could be done that couldn’t be monitored by looking at trade routes and smugglers. “We will not drive them into the depths.” It was somewhere beyond Palpatine’s reach.


They wouldn’t go that far. Not with Commandant Hux with them. Rae Sloane didn’t know and she seemed their leader. There was no one there to worry about. Not yet.


‘We cannot reveal our hand.’


As they agreed. They would monitor. They would remember for generations, as known space expanded, as the Force-sensitives returned. The Jedi. The Sith.


The outliers, like Maz Kanata. “Pull back. We’ll have a drink at the Spiked. I’ll even let you bitch about letting Sloane go the entire night.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “And only make one or two jokes about first loves.”


‘We don’t know exactly what they want. And that’s the problem….’ Well, August was still pretty certain it was a world, or a place. Palpatine wasn't stupid enough to chase old Sith relics, and he would have known if it were many, small things. No, this was a place, where the Force was strong. Which meant, a place ripe for being bent to the will of a Force sensitive.


They had no idea what they would get themselves into. Best to let others probe, and he’d look for the signs. He’d feel it, or he wanted to believe he would, like a bird knew when to fly South. He’d feel it.

 

[KyloGlenn]

To Be Alone
​

“Why can’t I just go with you guys?” An eleven-year-old Paquin questioned her parents as they geared up to leave Paquin alone once again. 


Phoebe Kent sighed, “Because. It’s work, not a vacation, Paquin.” 


“I’m not asking to go to work with you guys, I can just stay in the ship while you guys work.” Paquin pressed.


“Your father and I won’t even be on the same planet, he’s dropping me off elsewhere. We won’t be together.” Phoebe shook her head, they’d been through this before. “Besides—“


“I can stay with Dad, then!”


“Besides,” Phoebe’s eyes narrowed at her daughter, “It’s too dangerous. The entire galaxy is a dangerous place. You’re safest here, baby. Where only your father and I know where you are.”


Paquin shook her head. That sounded ridiculous. “What? What do you guys even do that is so dangerous? And if the entire galaxy is dangerous, how was I safe in any of the other places? How am I safe here? How am I safe on my own?” Paquin gestured to all four-foot-eight, seventy-five pounds of herself. Anyone could easily kidnap her or murder her and her fighting back would do next to nothing. The equivalent of a bee sting.


“Paquin, I can’t explain it, just—“


“Can’t or won’t?”


“Paquin, that’s enough.” Paquin’s father finally spoke up, having silently been roaming around the small hut they’d put Paquin up in, making sure things were secure before they left.


“Both.” Phoebe snapped. 


“You guys always leave me here! Alone! Why can’t I at least stay with someone? Grandma, anyone!”


“Because you can’t, Paquin. Now drop it. We have to get going. Come on, Bernard.”


“Dad!”


“Listen to your mother, okay? Remember to do your homework. And remember to eat, alright? I love you.” Bernie leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of Paquin’s curls, ruffling them up. “I’ll be in the ship,” he told his wife, giving Paquin one last smile, a sympathetic one, before making his leave. There were times that Bernard himself was unsure of this method they were using to ‘keep Paquin safe’. Where he wrote himself and his wife off as paranoid.


Where he wanted his wife to quit with the reckless, sketchy jobs that weren’t ever worth the money. Sometimes she did things that never even guaranteed money, like racing and other stupid shit. Sometimes he wished she would just give it up, so the two of them could possibly settle down with their kid. Bernard had a set of skills that were constantly in demand, jobs weren’t hard to find,


But again, they were too paranoid about someone finding Paquin, or her being influenced by something or someone. She would be easy to manipulate. Even when they knew of Luke and his school, they didn’t even want Paquin to know what the Force was. Sometimes they didn’t want anyone to know Paquin existed, but it was a little late for that.


 And then there was also Phoebe’s need for adrenaline that wouldn’t let her settle.


“Mom?” Paquin’s voice wasn’t angry anymore. It was more of a squeak as her eyes began to water.


Phoebe sighed. “If you need anything, call your father, alright?” Same spiel as always. “Be good, we’ll be back before you know it.” ‘Back before you know it’ could mean anywhere from a week up to a month. And then they’d come back, spend a week with her, maybe two if she was lucky, and disappear again. “I love you.” By the stern tone, it was obvious Phoebe still wasn’t happy with Paquin, but she couldn’t leave without expressing her love. A kiss was planted to Paquin’s cheek and with that, Paquin’s mother was gone.


The door slid shut, the click signaling it was locked. And then it was silent. Once again, Paquin was alone.


She stared at the door for a few minutes after they left before she rubbed her eyes. Nothing had fallen from them, but she still did it. And then she continued about. Sat at a table and did her homework. She was close to completion of her schooling. She wanted to continue on to an academy afterward, but she didn’t think her parents would let her.


Then she sat on a couch and read up on medical theories for a few hours. Until it was dark out and her stomach growled at her. ‘Remember to eat,’ her father’s voice rang in her head.


And so eat she did. She made oatmeal. Simple. Tasteless, apart from the fruit she placed on the top. Fruit they got from Hestria. She’d much rather be there. Then she could visit Seymour. Have some sort of interaction. She really did hate being alone.


Then she went back to reading on her datapad, well into the night.


And then she grew tired, abandoning the reading to get ready for bed. She showered, put on her sleepwear, and brushed her teeth. She brushed through her wet hair and pulled it into a braid like her mother used to when she was younger. Now she had to do it herself.


Then she laid down in a bed that wasn’t really hers.


She did all this in silence. As she usually would. No music, no holomovies in the background. No talking to herself. She’d go without speaking, without making much noise until her parents returned, typically. 


But this time was different, as she stared into the darkness of the small room, covers brought up to her chin. This time, her eyes watered as her heart ached for someone else’s presence. To be doing something else. To be somewhere else. She wondered if there was something wrong with her, something she did for her parents to not want to be around her. And tears finally spilled over. And she cried. Sobbed. 


She knew she should be used to being left by now, but she wasn’t. 


She couldn’t see it, or hear it over her crying. She felt it but wrote it off as her own body shaking from crying. But the small residence shook. The ground shook, and with it the furniture. The walls shook. Overhead lights swung. Lampshades swayed. And it didn’t cease until her crying stopped. Which didn’t happen until she was asleep. 


And she didn’t know that it was the answer to why her parents were rarely around. Or part of it, anyway. She didn’t even know what it was, or that it was coming from her. She didn’t know it really existed.


She’d know what it was eventually.


You can’t just ignore the Force until it goes away. The Force, the Dark side, and the Light don’t just go away. Phoebe and Bernard Kent would come to realize that one day, and regret ever leaving Paquin alone.

 

[KyloGlenn]

Beach Wedding
​

I, I, I, I just wanna watch you when you take it off


Take off all your makeup, baby take it off


I just wanna watch you when you take it off


Take off all your clothes and watch you take them off 


Paquin had no idea what song Yara was humming along to. It was part of a playlist that her friend had kept going during their time at the beach, the music emitting from the same device she was reading something on.


Yes, Paquin was on vacation. The first one she’d taken in the four years she’d worked for the First Order (—and the only one she’d ever take). It was for the only thing that would be able to tear her away from her work—Yara’s wedding. In which Paquin was the maid of honor.


Paquin hadn’t even taken a day or so off of work for dress fittings. Just called in via datapad to give comments on bridesmaids dresses and Yara’s grand wedding dress. Not even for Yara’s bachelorette party. All of which upset Yara to no end. Which Paquin ended up feeling incredibly bad about, considering she was the maid of honor.


And so while she was on ‘vacation’, she agreed to do whatever Yara wanted her to. And so when Yara said they’d spend the day before her wedding at the beach—to follow the tradition of not seeing the husband-to-be for an entire day before the wedding—Paquin couldn’t refuse.


Originally she set out in a sundress which Yara made her buy for the trip, set on just sitting and watching, not going in the water. Not to mention she’d slathered on about a hundred layers of sunscreen. She was prone to burning. But Yara was not pleased with that. Said it was boring and Paquin herself would get bored. Not to mention it wouldn’t look good in pictures—Yara had a thing about every moment of her wedding and the days leading up being photographed. But Paquin didn’t own a swimsuit. Maybe buying one before a destination wedding would’ve been smart, but Paquin didn’t think of it. 


And so Yara also made her buy a swimsuit. Didn’t even allow Paquin to pick it herself. Had one hell of a time picking one out for her, even though Paquin would never wear it again. Especially considering how uncomfortable she felt wearing it. She felt one wrong move and she’d fall out of the tiny red ensemble. She didn’t think it fit her figure well, either. Definitely more Yara’s style than hers.


And now Paquin laid on a towel, on her stomach, right next to the water. Surrounded by umbrellas, even though after she’d played in the water she applied more layers of sunscreen. She was not going to burn, she determined. Two she and Yara brought, but the other two belonged to the beach. She allowed the salt water to wash over her legs and the lower half of the towel and then recede. Wash over her, recede. And so on and so on.


Yara too was on her stomach next to Paquin. Well, next to the umbrellas that were next to Paquin. She had been wearing a white bathing suit, to signal her bridal status, she had said. But now the top was gone. Yara cited the reason being so she could get an even tan on her back since the back of her gown dipped low. Both front and back. 


The other girls had gone, saying they were hungry or the sand was irritating them. Yara had dismissed the photographer, probably because she wanted to disrobe. And so Paquin and Yara were the only two that remained.


Yara and Paquin were practically polar opposites. Yara was tall, tan, and athletic. Model-esque, Paquin would say. Whereas she was short, pale, and not fit in the least. Not that she was uncomfortable with that, though. Personality wise, they were on opposite spectrums as well. Yara was a social butterfly, seemed to make friends with everyone. Paquin had managed to befriend Yara only because of that fact.  


They did share some similarities, though. They both had dark hair. Both of them were smart, in the medical field. And they’d call each other kind. Yara, of course, being born and raised on Rhinnal, had some snobbishness in her. But beneath all that, Yara was a very kind hearted person.


But that’s about where the similarities ended.


I paint the house black


My wedding dress black leather, too


You have no room for light,


Love is lost on you


I keep my lips red


To seem like cherries in the spring


Darling, you can't let everything seem so dark blue


Paquin was aware then that the song had changed, seeming to be in the middle of this new one. It shook Paquin out of her thoughts.


She turned to face Yara, pushing back her curls that were still wet from the water and adjusting her top so nothing was falling out. “What are you reading?” Paquin questioned, expecting something along the lines of riveting medical literature.


“An erotic novel.”


“Oh.”


“Aren’t you going to ask how it is?”


“Um, how is it?”


Yara set the datapad down in front of her. “Honestly? Awful. Even you could write better erotica. But I just can’t put it down. You know, the main girl, Anastasia, kinda reminds me of you.”


“How so?”


“Well, she’s described as having blue eyes, too big for her face. Check. She’s awkward and shy. Double check. And she has no fashion sense. Check.”


“Hey! I’m sure if I had a reason to have casual clothes, they’d be fashionable.”


“Yeah, sure.” Yara rolled her eyes, reaching for the white bathing suit top to put it back on before she sat up. “You tried to wear a turtle neck and winter boots to a frat party.”


“It was Rhinnal!”


“Anyway. This chick somehow gets with a billionaire, young, hot guy who’s into BDSM—”


“—BDSM?” Paquin didn’t know what that was.


“Kinky stuff. Like being tied up and what not.  Anyway, back to what I was saying. I was thinking and I know someone who reminds me of him. You know Felix, Alaric’s friend?” Alaric was Yara’s fiancé. He was tall, muscular, and a doctor. He was thirty-seven, ten years older than Yara, who was five years older than Paquin. The two had been engaged since Yara and Paquin graduated from RSMA but were just now getting married. Paquin liked Alaric. He was pretty laid back, always been nice to her.


“Yeah?” Paquin answered, but she was suspicious.


“I figured since you’re like the main girl and he’s like the main guy the two of you should totally get together. The BDSM is optional, but I definitely recommend it.”


Paquin just rolled her eyes and rested her head against her arms. “Yara, you know I don’t want to get with anyone.”


“But he’s rich! And have you seen his eyes? You two would make beautiful blue-eyed babies! I want our children to be the same age so they can grow up and be best friends! And to do that, you have to hurry up and find a man!” Yara wanted at least six children. Wanted Paquin to have the same. Paquin hadn’t even thought of a family. Just figured she’d be a medic until she couldn’t anymore.


And then what? ‘Just die, I suppose.’


“No, Yara. I don’t want to find a man, I don’t want to make beautiful blue-eyed babies, and I don’t care that he’s rich—“ a gasp came from Yara. She loved money. She came from a family of money, she made a lot of money, and so did Alaric. Her wedding dress alone was priced well over a few hundred thousand credits. “Besides, I’m too busy with work.”


“Just one man that I give you Paquin! Just go on a date with one of them!” Yara had been trying to set Paquin up with anyone for years but never succeeded. Yara groaned and plopped back down. 


The two were silent for a few minutes, the music continuing to play softly along with the sounds of the ocean. Paquin’s eyelids felt heavy, her blinks became slower. To not fall asleep, she spoke, asking, “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”


“No,” Yara immediately replied, but then sat on her answer for a few seconds. “Yes. Not about marrying Alaric. Just about everything that could go wrong. Did I invite the right people? Pick the right decor? What if it rains? What if I get cake on my dress?”


“Isn’t the point just to marry Alaric? As long as you’re married, does anything else really matter?”


Yara was silent. Paquin had a point…But still, “Yes.” 


Another pause between the two before Paquin had another question. “Yara, why did you pick me to be your maid of honor?” Ever since the two of them graduated and moved on with work, they hadn’t spoken nearly as much. Over the past few months, more frequently because of the wedding. But before that, only a few times a standard year. She had to be much closer with the other bridesmaids, most of them Yara worked with.


“Because you’re the prettiest.”


Paquin lifted her head to give the other brunette a look. “Really?” She knew very well that Yara did tend to pick things on their attractiveness, but Paquin didn’t think she was spectacular enough.


“Okay, that and because…well…you’re like the little sister I never wanted. I feel closer to you than I do the others. We’ve been through all sorts of adventures together. And you third-wheeled a lot of our dates. That means something to me.” 


Paquin couldn’t help but grin. The words definitely made her feel warm. Even warmer than the sun did. She really did struggle to make friends, and she was glad that Yara had happened across her. 


“Now come on,” Yara stopped the sounds coming from her datapad and stood up. “I’m hungry now, too. The others have all probably ate, but we can find something on our own. Maybe some place that serves your strange vegan food!”


“Vegetarian. Vegan is different.”


“Barely.” 

 

[Lucyfer]

The Cantina of Ivan Dulchellon​

The drinks were flowing freely among the group in the cantina on the desolate space station, and the laughter was plentiful. The group of orphans was celebrating the return of the fearless Ivan Dulchellon, after another long disappearance, and far more credits than before. “So, when are you going to introduce us to these Knights you’ve been helping out, eh, Ivan?” The twi’lek woman asked, looking to the blue-eyed man as he tossed back a drink.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t see them that much myself,” he said. It was quite true. Kevan Ren rarely saw them anymore since they split up into their separate tasks. He saw Kylo Ren most of all, but not Gnaeus, Ariel, or Mira. Mira was always out in Wild Space. Occasionally, he got calls from her, at least. Ariel and Gnaeus, well – they seemed to have accepted the fact they were new, and didn’t try to break into the ranks of the trio.

Pity. He would have liked to know them better.

“Not even ‘Cora’?” The clawdite smirked, in the form of a human for their current environment. It made them a group of two humans, supposedly, a twi’lek – one they’d had to kick a few people’s asses over, and a rodian who claimed his brother worked with Tarkin. Kevan knew that was true, but he could never quite get the story of how the two ended up being so different. The rest didn’t believe Eeshon about that, not Ivi’neesh, nor Gerled.

Kevan sighed. ‘Especially not.’ He shook his head, “Not any time soon. She’s the most difficult to reach,” he gestured out, “busy searching space for…well, you know, holy grails and such, like a good knight,” he laughed, “Well no, I guess that’s a couple of the others. She’s seeking Mortis, or something.”

“I thought Mortis blew up,” Gerled said.

“How would you even know?”

“Did you read literally nothing when we at the Academy, Nee?” Gerled joked.

“I didn’t learn how to hack into the emperor’s private files, Gerled,” Nee grumbled the reminder, “You never shared those. So Mortis blew up?”

“Something like that,” he waved it off, “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? Ivan’s not going to introduce us to his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Kevan rolled his eyes, “I told you, she was a me—”

“Master.” The three chimed, and Kevan groaned. He was never allowed to live that down. He put his hand on his forehead and dramatically leaned back in his chair.

Nee continued, gleeful smile on her lips, “She’s ugly, isn’t she?”

“No – look, it doesn’t matter,” he said, waving it off before lowering that hand and smirking at them, “What matters is that soon we’re going to be able to afford to start outfitting ourselves like a real crew here, and start hiring people.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that,” Eeshon said, annoyed, “But what are we even organizing for?”

“Because we can? What do the Hutts even organize for?” Gerled snorted, “Money, fame, and bitches.” Nee, naturally, hit him over the head, “Not you!” He was hit again, “I don’t mean—” and again, which was when he finally moved out of his chair and she grabbed a pint. “I’m sorry!” He threw his hands up, “Money, fame, and lovely people of the preferred gender and species to enjoy pleasant companionship with?”

“Voids that’s a mouthful. I prefer bitches.” Kevan had the pint thrown at him instead. He could have stopped it with the Force. He always could have – but he kept his lives distinct. Here, with them, he was still Ivan Dulchellon, the smuggler who wanted to create a place of power for himself. He didn’t truly want to be a criminal…no, he wanted to create a better world. He still wanted to believe the Knights of Ren were going to do that…but something told him it wasn’t so.

That something kept his lives distinct and apart.

Yet in the vain hope it wouldn’t…he’d named Kylo and Mira after two of the figures in the Cantata from which he took his own name. If ever he had to introduce them, he wanted his friends to already feel familiar with them. They were thus Somu and Cora Vessora, but it was the namesake of the Cantata that his allies remained most interested in.

After all, Ivan played second-fiddle to no one.

He laughed after wiping away at some of the liquor with his sleeve, Nee glaring at him and waiting for his apology, “What? I want a pack of dogs!” Nee threw her hands up then as the other two laughed at Kevan, “Don’t you like bitches, Nee?”

“Go to hell, Ivan. Go to all of the Corellian hells.”

“I think I’ll just go to Mortis.”

Nee just growled and pushed herself up, “I’m going to get another drink.” And she stalked off towards the counter of the bar, allowing Kevan to stretch out for a moment and relax.

“I’ve missed you all so much,” he sighed, content, even if he was dripping with alcohol.

“We’ve missed you, Ivan. You don’t come around as often anymore.”

“The Knights keep me busy,” he shrugged, “But it’ll be worth it in the long run. Just wait.” He winked. “Soon ,we’ll have it all,” he gestured out dramatically. “We’ll have balance.”

“And credits.”

“Fame.”

“And bitches.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Final Act: The Tragedy of Ivan Dulchellon ​

No lightsaber. No ship. Nothing. Kevan Ren may have been saved from the Resistance and told to lay low, but that wasn’t his way. No, he went to Grakkus and called in his favors then – all of them, to get a vibroblade, a freighter, and some credits for all the other favors. He wanted nothing else, and he was out of his hair immediately, and off to a space station where he hailed some of his old crew.

The freighter landed, and he was almost immediately greeted when the ramp of it dropped by many of his crew, but most of all, by Nee, who threw her arms around him and pulled him down into a hug. He stumbled a bit, but bent with it, wrapping his arms around her and sighing.

“What happened with the Knights?” Eeshon asked.

“Somu? Cora?” Gerled added, curious.

The message that they had all received was hasty, panicked. It had informed them all went south, and they had to hasten their movements to make sure they withstood the Knights.

Kevan took a breath, and then lightly pushed Nee away, “I…haven’t been completely honest with any of you. So in sum, you’ve all heard of the First Order by now, and of Kylo Ren, right?”

Nods. “I was a Knight of Ren. Kylo was Somu. I…I’m sorry, I got on their bad side.”

There were immediate outcries. “ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?”

“What do you mean got on their bad side? Why were you working with the genocidal assholes?”

“Please tell me you were planning to betray them the whole time….”

On and on it went, and Kevan waited until there was finally some silence, “It’s…very hard to explain, but I was, and I wasn’t, planning to betray them. I hoped, and I was stupid to hope, but….”

‘But Kylo…and Mira…they hoped.’ He still believed, with all of his heart, that they weren’t evil. Mira was afraid. He had been afraid, too. “I promise, I’ll explain everything, but right now we have to move all our operations. We have to empty Acatal and find somewhere else to operate from. They’re going to be coming.”

“You got the First Order after us…you got Force sens….”

That was when Gerled paused. They all did, realizing then what he had said. “You…were a knight.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a Force sensitive.”

“Also yes.”

Nee slapped him.

“How have you been keeping that from us?” She shrieked.

“I’m a very good liar.” He was almost hit again, but he stopped her wrist this time with just a look. As the fear stole over her, he let her go, and sighed, “I’m Kevan Ren, of the Knights of Ren…but I’ve always been Ivan. They wanted me to kill my light when I joined…I was an orphan, I had nothing, it was easy to lie,” somehow. He was still rather impressed with that, especially after learning about Mathias. “I just need some of you to come along with me, we have to get things moving in Acatal, now.” He gestured to the freighter, and Gerled nodded.

“I’ll go get the rest, they’re inside the cantina.”

Eeshon moved as well, but Nee remained defiant outside, hands on her hip, as the others of the crew moved into the freighter, realizing that Nee wanted him alone. “After all this time….”

“I’m sorry.”

“So Somu is Kylo. You named him after one of those Siths.”

“Yes….”

“Is that what he is?”

“No,” Kevan protested, “He’s not…he’s lost, Nee. Lost like Cora.” He sounded deflated as he said it. He still thought Mira would have joined him, after saving him. Thought she had seen the light after Starkiller, and would stop defending Kylo and Hux, realize what they were…realize what she was becoming, too. After the ewoks. After genocide on this scale. “That doesn’t mean you should spare them. If they come through here…don’t tell them anything. Don’t hurt them if it isn’t necessary, but if it is…don’t hesitate.”

He hated giving the order, but it was necessary. They would have to die. Kylo and Mira. Ariel and Gnaeus. If they came after him to kill him, they would have to die.

Nee reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze as she squeezed it softly. “I’m sorry, Kevan.” She spoke the other name then. The name that encompassed him as a Force Sensitive, accepting him still with that name in its use and the comfort extended.

He smiled in gratitude. “Thanks, Nee.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Denial and Acceptance
​

Maresa Papilion, senator of Chandrila, had called to August and he had ignored her first summons. The man was still lost to grief over the death of Mon Mothma, though to any who looked at him, they’d think otherwise. In the past year, Senator Organa was thrown out of the senate due to her parentage, Ransolm Casterfo had supposedly been executed, and then Mon Mothma passed on. Any who looked at him, however, would think he was taking advantage of the holes in the Senate.

Maresa knew better as she watched the ginger man from her own repulsorpod and listened to him lash out against the woman who had risen up to try and fill the void left by Mon Mothma and Leia Organa, another ginger who stood tall and arrogant, and waited.

When the words ceased, she was calm in her response, as composed as August could only hope for right then. “Governor Tarkin,” the senator of Brentaal IV spoke, “I deeply appreciate your concern for the finances of this Senate body. No one here is going to deny that military spending is important, and we should all be concerned with it. Yet, it seems to have slipped your mind that while we are able to collaborate on things such as spending for monuments, in the history of the Galactic Senate, we have not been able to agree on whether or not to come together and have a true Galactic Military, or allow each world to militarize itself. I understand you would like to have both – everyone here is aware of your position, Governor Tarkin, but we cannot force such things simply because you want it. The reason, then, that we have chosen to fund another monument is because it is something we can agree on, and it encourages unity in another fashion, as we honor those who have brought us to the point we are at now. If you wish to discuss militarizing again, it will have to be put in for next session, and then we can go over the tired conversation of which planets would contribute, how the military would be spread out, and so and so on, and once again, come up with a vote that is inconclusive.”

Maresa watched as Tarkin seemed to swallow back venom as he looked at Senator Cormond. Most would have expected her to be a Centrist, but she was not. She had an Imperial background, like Tarkin himself. Her world had been a base for their academics, after all, and it was known that Galen Erso and Orson Krennic had both attended it, and yet, Lady Dido Cormond always found herself at odds with Tarkin.

Before he could say something about putting it on the agenda, Maresa pressed the button on her own pod and it moved from its place along the wall as the droid voice announced, “The Senator of Chandrila has the floor!” A certain silence fell, that made Maresa a bit uncomfortable. She had only recently stepped in, and so many thought of Mon Mothma. The weight of her absence could have filled the room.

All eyes went to her. August’s piercing blue, and the stormy sea of Cormond's, but the woman stood firm, knowing she seemed a bit of an oddity with her holographic blue hair and young face. She was draped in the fashion of Chandrila that would have made her look like a butterfly if she were walking, with the translucent drapes and sleeves, and she knew it may be hard for some to take her seriously, but she had to start standing up, and keeping the balance. That was what Mon Mothma had seen in her, and that was what she would do. “Senator Cormond, Senator Tarkin,” he may prefer Governor Tarkin, but she had to remind them of their place, here, “Thank you for your insights into the needs of our galaxy, from morality and unity, to protection and security. However, at the heart of this discussion is a discussion of finances, and Governor Tarkin raises a point, even if he did not quite state it – we have not made a budget. We have not agreed on a budget. We have money, from the various worlds represented here, and I hate to be crass, but to our worlds we may be appearing to spend it frivolously if we are able to say simply that today, we would like to build a monument, or tomorrow, we would like to buy more ships,” she glanced between them as she heard some chuckles from others, and her smile broadened a bit, noting that neither Tarkin nor Cormond were laughing.

Others were, and it was not at her, fortunately. “I believe we need to shelf all conversation of spending until we can draw up a budget for the year. We should break, and all of us go and consider how to organize the budget, speak to our worlds and our people, and then reunite to discuss the budget of the Galactic Senate, not just discuss projects themselves, but allocate how much of our budget we’d like to put for these things, and other things. We must keep it in the big picture, as we’ve done in the past.”

Tarkin’s posture relaxed, “I consent,” he spoke, “Thank you, Senator Papilion, for your insight. It seems we have forgone creating a budget.” His eyes shifted to Senator Cormond.

“I agree,” she allowed, “In our haste to honor Mon Mothma, we have forgotten the need to plan ahead, as well. Thank you, Senator Papilion. You honor your predecessor. We will reconvene in three weeks’ time to discuss the budget for the new term.”

The senate started to break apart then, and Maresa was quick to put her pod back in place and leave once the formalities were done with. She all but sprinted across the rotunda to get to where she knew August would be leaving from, and she ended up running right into him. He stumbled backwards, not expecting it, and Julia lifted a hand to steady him as they both looked down at the younger woman.

“Tarkin!” Her voice was more shrill than she wanted it to be, and only then did she realize exactly how short she was as she looked up at him. “You have been avoiding me for weeks!”

“I do apologize, Senator Papilion, I’ve been quite bus—”

“Bullshit, Tarkin! Bull, fucking, shit.” The shock on his face was beautiful. He clearly hadn’t expected her to curse. “Do I have to go have Pandion grab you and carry you to Chandrila? Because I will.”

“I believe that is called kidnapping, and I believe it is illegal and grounds to have you arrested.” Tarkin wasn’t feeling playful.

She let out a huff of irritation, “Governor, this is important, and you know it.”

“I don’t see why, I presume Mon Mothma briefed you on everything, there’s no reason we need to have a meeting on our own. I have no one to bring to you, no one to forgive, and no new information to present. So, if you’ll excuse me—” when he tried to turn away, Julia’s nails dug into his arm and held him in place. He looked to her.

“I have it handled with Johann today, August.” She said lightly, easily, “You should go to Chandrila with Senator Papilion. You may discuss the budget or other matters.” Her eyes were beseeching him to go, and though he clearly wanted to argue, he relented. She smiled as she saw it, and stroked her hand down his arm, before pushing him down a bit with the hand that remained on his shoulder to press a kiss to his lips, almost chaste in its softness, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he confirmed as she started to slip away from him, hands and fingers, leaving him with the other woman.

He knew why. He needed to accept that Mon Mothma was gone. He needed to continue with her successor…which was not her own child or her own blood. She had none. She had let the Rebellion take over her life, and gave herself to her work. She never quite learned to balance it as he had. “I’ll meet you at Junari Point. Mon told me your favorite places.” There was a beat, and then, Maresa added, “I know I’m not her, August…and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry – but she told me how important this was, and with the growing threat that the rest of the Senate wants to ignore.”

“The First Order. Leia talks to you?”

“Of course she does,” Maresa managed a slightly sad smile, “You’re the only one who isn’t.” There was silence. She expected him to say something. When he didn’t, she asked, “You loved her, didn’t you?”

“Who, Leia?” He laughed at the idea, shaking his head.

“No, Mo—”

August just stepped back, speaking over her, “I’ll see you at Junari Point!” He answered almost blithely, turning and walking off, shoes clicking with each step, and Maresa was left to stare at him, and to feel that sad smile turn to something almost giggly.

‘You did. You loved her.’ Perhaps not like he loved Julia, or perhaps exactly like he loved Julia, but his reaction suddenly made a lot more sense to Maresa.

 

[Lucyfer]

Generations
​

There was a bar in Chandrila’s Junari Point, and the senator sat there, nursing a cup of wine as she waited for August Tarkin to show himself. She felt like she’d been waiting for an hour, but it couldn’t have been that long when he finally showed up, a bit more cleaned up, and dressed in calmer grays and blues. His style still reeked of Imperials, but it was more tolerable than his black or his olive outfits, and he slid into a seat near her, outside, overlooking the sea.

She poured him a glass and he took it, allowing silence to slip between them as he watched the waves lap at the shore. She waited, and this time, made sure to wait long enough for him to actually speak, “Did Mon Mothma ever tell you how we entered into an alliance?”

“No,” Maresa answered honestly. She hadn’t told her much about August that was personal, the details she had offered were impersonal.

“Princess Organa was meant to meet with me instead of her. I declined and demanded to speak with Mon Mothma, personally. I would have consented to meet off-world, but Mon Mothma came to Eriadu instead.” A world where many reviled her, a world where most still wanted August to go to Rae Sloane or others, and join the remnants of the Empire, fully unaware that August had no plans of ever doing that after reading through Wilhuff’s diary entries.

It was why he had distanced himself from Palpatine and allowed another to rise as Grand Moff after Wilhuff.

“It was not a pleasant conversation,” he allowed, smirking a bit, “She knew what I was trying to do before a word left my lips, and knew I wanted to manipulate the system for my own gain. I believe she called me on it in five minutes or so, maybe sooner,” he said, “almost the same way you did. Imagine my surprise hearing such words from a woman known for her poise and dignity. Yet, when we cut to the chase bluntly, it did go much…easier. Mon Mothma knew she needed me as much as I needed her, if she was going to unite the galaxy again. I was as much a figurehead for the Empire as she was for the Rebels. If we could unite, we could bring them all together – and that’s what we did. She heard countless confessions from Imperials and pardoned them all if I brought them to her, if I wanted it.”

There were those not pardoned. There were those August imagined better executed or exiled, in a way. “You’ve inherited an unenviable position if you are now the one who knows those secrets.”

“I am aware, Tarkin,” she stated, “just as I am aware that you are still a key in the machine, and your son will be, after you. I’m disappointed you didn’t bring him. Should I not be familiar with him?”

“No, he’s not there yet,” he had not yet overcome the Carrion. He didn’t feel like explaining the Rites of Passage or other such things, though. “Julia would be next, and if Johann is not of age and she is gone, Bertrand of the Nexu Pride.” He had things set up in case Johann died, as well, but he never liked to think of it. Bertrand would, indeed, take over. August was not having another child. Julia couldn’t – and so, he wouldn’t.

Bertrand wasn’t informed. Just in case. People who were in second place rarely liked to stay in second place. He also didn’t want Johann to know – his pragmatism was good, but it was also cold and cruel, and he did not want his son to think he could be replaced so easily.

He couldn’t – not in his heart – but in the grand scheme everyone was replaceable.

Even Mon Mothma. “What do you want from this, Papilion? I was not lying, I do not have more to share, nor do I have anyone to bring to your feet to beg forgiveness.”

“I want to be friends, August,” Maresa answered. She almost died at the look of shock that crossed his face, “That’s right, friends. Mon set up this system with you, three people and such to be the watchdogs of the Galactic Senate. Your family is the living reminder of what once was, and will be for centuries and centuries to come. Your family is the fist. The ones of Chandrila are…well, she liked to see it as the mothers, even if next is a man. We are the peacekeepers, we are the reminder that there are individuals in the systems, and it is the systems to dismantle, not the individuals. Pandion…I honestly don’t know what he is.”

“A lie,” August answered, “A pleasant lie that holds us together, of forgiveness and information.”

“A lie?”

August didn’t elaborate. He hadn’t told Mon Mothma, and he wouldn’t tell her, that all of Pandion’s information came from him. That Pandion had never been so critical or crucial to anything. Triumvirates worked best as duos, as Vader was the lie between the minds of Palpatine and Wilhuff. A pawn. “You’re confusing.”

“Intentionally,” he agreed, “Pandion is the first brought into the fold, and that is why he has his position. He had information on Wild Space, and was one of the few Imperials with that information.”

“And we’ve let the First Order go out there.”

“Unknown Regions, last I heard. Not Wild Space.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes.”

“What difference?”

“Direction, mostly,” August actually smiled a bit, but it faltered, “the Unknown Regions aren’t mapped at all. Wild Space has some mappings done, and will likely get more. It is basically just directions, though, and we don’t know how far either extend, or what either eventually lead to, but we know that Wild Space is where things begin to get…interesting.”

“Which is precisely why Palpatine thought there was more out there, or something, right? A nexus of power….”

“Mm.”

“Are you looking into it yet, August?”

“No,” he shook his head, “nor do I plan to. Perhaps Johann will, or someone after him, but I think it is safer to leave it as is until we have someone Force sensitive to go with. Or until one of us is born Force sensitive.” He wasn’t sure which would come first, but he did imagine the future of the Tarkins were leaning towards that. The Force wasn’t strong in them, but it was there in their intuition. August acknowledged it, even if he couldn’t grasp it. “A foolish move could end up causing catastrophes that the world hasn’t seen since Krennic’s stupidity with the kybers.”

A wry grin cut across Maresa’s face, yet she said nothing. She sipped her wine, “I thought you were all for science.”

“I am, but there is a limit to how much collateral damage can be allowed, something the Count of Serenno and I don’t see eye to eye on.”

Maresa actually laughed there, if only because she’d heard of one argument at one of August’s famous get-togethers that the Count was at, and how it had exploded over Clone War tech. Supposedly, there was a video somewhere, but she’d never found it. All she knew was that it had devolved into very petty insults and, yes, August started calling the ‘Count’, ‘Director’. “But you two seem to get along so well!”

“We have similar politics, but his morality and science can get fucked.” And Maresa just dissolved into more laughter, and started to pepper August with friendlier, easier questions, to work on building the friendship she desired, eventually finding it far easier. Or perhaps that was the wine talking.

Regardless, she would certainly achieve her goal, before nearly being killed by an assassin that, unknown to her, Jarrod Pandion had hired.

 

[KyloGlenn]

Monsters​

Knock knock.

Paquin was startled out of her sleep by a knocking at her door.

Knock knock.

“Miss Doctor Lady!” It was a child’s voice, sounding desperately urgent.

“Her name is Paquin!” Another child’s voice, correcting the other one.

“Miss Paquin! We need your help.” The first child tried again, correcting to ‘Miss Paquin’. All while knocking furiously.

Paquin squinted, half-asleep, looking to the clock. She’d only been asleep for two hours, but it was well and late into the night. All the children should be asleep. So why weren’t these two? Paquin registered then, that something may have been wrong. She hurried, throwing the blanket off of her legs, exposing herself to the chilly air. She was used to it.

She quickly opened the door, two kids staring up at her. That seemed to be the only time anyone looked up at her, when they were children.

She recognized them. RN-0771 and FL-4334. 0771 was probably around seven years old, and the other nearly nine. “What are you two doing out of bed? What’s wrong?”

And then they both started hurriedly talking at the same time, over each other. They both grabbed one of Paquin’s hands, quickly pulling her along. All Paquin managed to get out of it was ‘Sal’ and ‘sliced’ and ‘lost insides’. All of which did not answer any of Paquin’s questions, but still worried her greatly.

And so there she was, speeding barefoot through the halls. A future Stormtrooper holding each hand. All the way until they reached the Stormtrooper’s bunks. It was then that the two released her, abandoning her to then take their places besides a small mass slumped on the floor.

Paquin quickly rushed to follow suit, her knees hitting the ground as her arms reached towards the mass. The sniffling mass, at that. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She worriedly questioned, her hands moving to make sure the kid still had arms. She could hardly tell in the dark.

It was then that the kid’s head lifted, revealing the little face of TF-2410. He was only six, the youngest of the three. With what little light there was, she could see it reflect off of his cheeks. Tears. With his hands he held up something. A plush toy, Paquin made out. It looked like a Stormtrooper, with the old model armor. It was ripped, right in half. Some stuffing hung from the plush. The rest sat in the lap of the child.

“8-Ball cut him in half!” He cried, fresh tears beginning to stream. “He said I was too old to need a stuffy!” Paquin didn’t know who 8-Ball was. Well, she probably did. But she wasn’t familiar with the nicknames amongst the Stormtroopers. TF-2410 sniffled again, his voice coming out quiet, “I can’t sleep without him, he protects me. But now he’s r-r-ruined.”

Paquin almost wanted to laugh. Not because of this crying child but because she’d been woken up, thinking someone was dying. A laugh of relief. But no such thing came out of her throat.

“Can I take a look at him?” Paquin asked, voice gentle. She held out her hands for the toy. 2410 slowly slipped the two halves of the toy into her hands. “Thank you,” Paquin mumbled as she took a look at the toy, pretending to examine it thoroughly. “I think I can fix him. You’ve got all his stuffing, right?” A nod. “Then he’s still got a chance.” Paquin stood then, holding the toy’s bits in one hand. The other hand was held out to 2410. Or Sal, as the other two called him.

Paquin’s small hand was gripped by an even tinier hand, the boy standing up while clutching the stuffed toy’s innards in the other arm. And with that, Paquin led him and the other two to the medbay.

She flicked the lights on, the medbay empty for once. No training injuries that needed to be tended to overnight. All those on missions weren’t due back for another few hours. It was quiet and sterile.

Paquin set the toy on a cart, usually used for transporting medical supplies. For now it would serve as an operating table. Paquin released the boy’s hand to take the stuffing from him and set it alongside the toy. Sal pointed to one of the beds, silently asking to be placed atop it. Paquin lifted him up, placing him down. She’d gone to offer the other two a hand, but they were already shimmying themselves on top of it.

Paquin then went on to find a needle and some thread. It was all medical grade, not what was used to make toys. But a slim enough one would work. “You said he protects you, huh? Protects you from what? You know you’re completely safe here, right?” Paquin worked to reassure the children that there was nothing to be scared of on base as she pulled up a stool, beginning to re-stuff the doll.

“From monsters.” The kiddo spoke timidly. “Have you ever heard of the Jedi Killer?”

“Kylo Ren!” One of the others piped in, FL-4334, before Paquin could even answer.

“Kylo Ren isn’t the only Jedi Killer! There’s another. But I heard she was so terrible that she had to be sent into Wild Space!”

Paquin could see that none of this was easing the six year old’s nerves. “Commander Ren is here to aid the First Order, not anyone in it,” Paquin mumbled as she began to stitch the two halves of the toy together.

“That’s not what I hear—ow!” RN-0771 was elbowed by 4334, the older of the two getting the hint.

“Shush!”

“But what about Captain Phasma?” The youngest spoke again.

“Phasma? She’s not a monster.” Paquin giggled.

“Have you seen her? She’s huge! Like…twenty feet tall!” 0771 exclaimed.

“Of course I’ve seen her. I’ll admit, she’s a little intimidating. But she’s no monster.” Paquin was wholly amused by the fact that they thought Phasma was a monster. Maybe it was because Paquin was an adult and had actually spoke to the woman. And seen her outside of her armor. “But either way, little guy here is all set and ready to protect you tonight.” Paquin had easily finished sewing the toy up, even going back to add little threads that looked like actual stitches.

She swiveled on her stool, presenting the Stormtrooper toy to the children. “You fixed him!” 2410 cried happily, quickly embracing the stuffed toy and squeezing the non-existent life out of it. “Thank you, Miss Packnin!” Paquin held back her laughter at the mispronunciation of her name. She supposed it was hard to pronounce for little kids. She was taken aback when 2410 hopped off the bed to embrace Paquin as well.

Paquin, unsure of what to do, awkwardly patted the back of the child. She wasn’t used to being hugged, even by the younger Stormtroopers.

She hadn’t been used to kids, either, when she was first employed. She’d gotten better at that, though. At interacting with them. Clearly.

It was then that the rush of steps was heard, and an out of breath Stormtrooper came whirling around the corner. Upon a glance, he was fully armored apart from his helmet. “FN-2187,” Paquin addressed, Sal releasing her as she stood.

“I’ve been looking all over for those three!” FN-2187 breathed. After he finished his janitorial duties, he was to make his rounds and check to make sure all the younger troopers were in place, sleeping. It was his first sense of true responsibility over other people. And he’d panicked when three beds were empty. He’d hurried down so many halls to look for them. “They shouldn’t be out of bed. We’re going to be in so much trouble.”

As FN-2187 neared, Paquin was confused as to how she had to look up at him. She was fairly certain the last time she saw him, they were the same height. Either way, she shook her head. “I know. There was a little mishap, it’s been taken care of. If you do find yourselves in trouble, send your superiors over to me. I’ll take care of it.” Paquin wasn’t about to let these kids be reprimanded. Not over this, they didn’t deserve it.

“That’s a nice thought and all, but I don’t think they’ll concern themselves with what a medic has to say…” 2187 worried. “No offense, Miss Kent!” He quickly added.

“You’d be surprised. Trust me.” Paquin assured, offering a pat to the teenager’s shoulder.

“Okay…,” He was still concerned. He looked to the three children. “C’mon guys. I’ll take you back to bed.”

The older two grumbled, but 2410 easily agreed to it, wordlessly taking FN-2187’s hand. In the other arm was the now fixed toy, squeezed to his chest.

“Goodnight.” Paquin bid her farewell.

“Goodnight!” They all chimed.

“Night, Miss Kent. Sorry they bothered you.” FN-2187 apologized, only for Paquin to dismiss it with a wave of her hand.

And then Paquin was left on her own, to close up the medbay again.

The walk back to her room was silent, her arms wrapped around herself the whole way back. She’d come across a pair of older Stormtroopers, making their rounds. She couldn’t see their faces, but she knew they were looking at her strange. She was wandering around barefoot, in shorts, after all. She didn’t worry herself with their thoughts.

Upon returning to her room, she fell straight back into bed, happily accepting the warmth her blankets provided her. She’d have to get up in a couple of hours, which she was dreading. But, almost immediately she fell back asleep. But not without a final giggle, at the the thought of the kids. It was quite the night.

 

[Lucyfer]

Monster of Wild Space
​

“Why am I always the referee?” Kevan complained as he sat on metal boxes which he’d purposefully brought into the empty hangar of the Finalizer where Kylo Ren and Mira Ren had chosen to occupy. “I want to play!”

“This isn’t play, Kevan.” Mira reminded him, taking a deep breath as she came to stand several yards away from Kylo, who paused as well, before pulling his lightsaber into his hand and kicking out, igniting the red blade.

“Training, whatever – you two are the best, I should get a turn to train with you two.”

“That’s why you’re not, you’d hold one of us back.” Kylo smirked as Mira pulled her own saber into her hand and ignited the red blade. “Besides, this is training for Mira. You’re good with your emotions.” Mira still was not, “Remember….”

“I know,” another deep breath, and as it was let out, shaking, Kylo felt those walls start to lower. He had told her to feel, to fall into the emotions this time, the anger that she needed to learn to channel to advance in her training. He told her to think of her parents who abandoned her. He told her to think of Mathias and her inability to protect him, to train him properly, but when the guards lowered, he pushed those thoughts and those memories right into her head, linked with her the way she’d done on Endor’s moon to fill her with his own rage.

It definitely worked.

Kevan winced at the lightning that sparked around Mira, misdirected – directionless, really. He pulled one knee up onto the box he was on, and watched as his Master shook her head, as if trying to get rid of it, but of course, she wouldn’t. She didn’t bother with another breath. She ran for Kylo, single-minded.

Kylo drew his own mind and emotions back, and lifted his lightsaber to guard her first attack, but had to step back as lightning sparked with the collision. “MIRA! COME ON!” He shouted, pulling back again as she lashed out, the second stroke more vicious and less focused, lightning dancing off the tip of her lightsaber and flinging itself into the wall. Kylo grunted as he sent a kick out at her chest in the moment she left herself open.

She stumbled back, but didn’t fall. The internal pressure of the Force was stabilizing, even if Kylo was aware it was also damaging, not to him, but to her. He thrust his blade forward, and she fell back, rolled, and got back to her feet as he continued forward and swung. She blocked with her lightsaber and applied pressure to try and push him open.

Kylo held, but grit his teeth as the lightning danced up the blade now and then, not caring if it hit him, or her. This was the problem. She could never focus it. She could never get rid of the pressure that was weighing on her. “Mira….” He pressed back, thinking the deadlock might help her to grasp her focus and learn to will the lightning how she wanted.

He felt the anger rising instead. Her frustration was multiplying it.

There was a moment Kylo knew he should have retreated back, but he didn’t.

The Force pushed out from Mira with an outcry, the air seeming to shred the space between them and throw them both back. Kylo recovered quick, but so did Mira, and he was put on the defensive by a barrage of quick slashes – aimless, unfocused, but still they would hit him if he didn’t dodge or block. Their haste was the only reason Kylo didn’t grasp the advantage quickly, and he felt the saber singe his cheek and knew then that Mira had lost herself in the emotions.

Mira’s anger had focused on Kylo, and he felt it. Her mind was open, blaming him – replaying the slaughter of the Jedi padawans, imagining she could have reconciled with her parents if she didn’t join him, imagining futures that could not be as sparks of light that threw lightning recklessly around her, and Kylo knew he had to end this sooner than he’d like.

‘You’re not getting better in Wild Space.’ She’d come back after getting 100 planets logged. Kylo hoped for some improvement, but…no….

He let the saber singe his shoulder, arm shooting over his shoulder. He stepped into it, and ignored the burst of lightning as his empty hand wrapped around her throat.

He threw her right into the hangar wall, hard.

“HEY, WOAH!” Kevan, of course, who jumped off his box as he saw the blood on the metal. “TIME OUT, TIME OUT!”

Kylo stepped aside, keeping his saber ignited as Mira crumpled to the ground. He could still feel the anger, but the pain was throbbing louder. Exhaustion was pulling at her. She could never deal with the anger for long, either – it drained her, the lightning always did. Kylo never used it so recklessly…at least, not yet. One day, he aspired to be able to use it as easily as he did other skills of the Force.

Kevan slid to a stop, knees bending as he dropped to her side, “Hey, hey, still with us, huh?” Mira shook her head, but her eyes fluttered open and she sat up a bit straighter.

“You’re still not focusing it.” Kylo accused and her eyes focused on him. He didn’t look at all concerned as the anger reignited, right at him, but he knew it didn’t matter. “You’re still hurting yourself more than you’re hurting me with that anger,” sure, he was singed with the saber, and a bit with the lightning, but that was nothing compared to what the lightning had done to her. Her armor was in near tatters again. “You can’t let the anger drive you, Mira. You have to drive it.”

“I don’t know how!” Mira snapped, and Kevan flinched back, let Mira get up on her own and stalk towards Kylo Ren. “Haven’t you learned that? Hasn’t Snoke learned that? I DON’T KNOW HOW!” She slashed the air with her hands, lightsaber having lost its blade when she hit the wall. “Focus this, focus that – HOW, KYLO? HOW?” Her gaze was both accusing and imploring.

‘You promised me.’

It wasn’t spoken, but Kylo heard the thought all the same, the walls still down. He had hoped he’d figure it out by now. They’d talked, often enough in years past, as padawans and young knights, about the problem – the way the emotions always cycled back to her. She understood it, logically. She wasn’t stupid, she knew her emotions, she knew why they existed and where they came from, but when she was caught up in them, she couldn’t logic her way through it.

“You just…have to!” It was an unhelpful answer, and he knew it as it came with a shrug as he matched her posture, spreading his own arms out, “Just focus on the emotion itself, once you feel it – not what causes it. Don’t think about it, just feel it, and use it in the current situation.”

Mira shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her. “That’s the stupidest idea you’ve had yet.”

“Well? Try it.”

“Just focus on the anger – I can’t! I have to know why I’m angry—”

“You have to stop thinking—”

“—and if there’s no reason, it’s not going to hold—”

“—this is the problem—”

“—I know the problem!”

“THEN WHY CAN’T YOU FIX IT?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“Commander Ren.” It was not Kevan who spoke, but Captain Phasma. All the Knights looked to her as the chrome-plated trooper approached, and while they couldn’t see her face, it was evident she was displeased, “We have training rooms on the Finalizer, Commander Ren. This hangar is needed.” Phasma may be a Captain, but she still took no shit from her so-called superiors.

It broke the tension, and for that, Kevan was grateful. He rushed between Mira and Kylo both, throwing an arm around either of their necks, “Sorry about that, Captain Phantasy, it was my idea!” Kevan said swiftly, earning a confused look from Kylo at the nickname and sensing the anger dissipate from Mira into exasperation. “I thought they’d need a larger space since, you know, Force. We’ll get out of your way now, tell General Su—Hux I’m really, really sorry about the inconvenience!”

He all but pulled the two of them along, the arm around Kylo’s neck leaving him completely, while the one around Mira’s moved to grab her arm as they walked out of the hangar. “Captain Phantasy?” Kylo asked.

“You can’t tell me that wouldn’t be her stripper name.” Kevan stated simply, “Anyway, you two really need to chill.”

Mira shook her head, “No, Kylo’s right….”

“He’s not ri—”

Mira shot him a glare. So did Kylo. He fell silent. He didn’t want to be ganged up on, though he wanted to protest it. “I’ll try to hold onto the feeling and not overthink it. If it doesn’t work…we’ll just try to think of something else.” Though already the feelings were ebbing away as if they’d never been there, fading into familiar, number emotions.

Kylo was half-tempted to apologize for the harshness, but didn’t. “Good.” That was all he said. She would continue her training in Wild Space, he knew, where she could not do as much harm. She could learn to hold emotions in places where nothing would inspire them, and damage none. “It should not be this difficult.”

“I know.” Numb. Empty. “I’ll head to the medbay now. Thank you for the lesson, I apologize for not improving.”

A half-hearted smile touched Kylo’s lips, and he nodded, as Kevan volunteered, “I’ll see her there!” and turned her away.

 

[KyloGlenn]

Don't Be Stupid​

Hux wrung his hands behind his back as he made the march to his father’s office, the both of them having returned to the starship base nearly a full 24 hours. Since the day before, he’d been avoiding his father as much as a subordinate could avoid the Commandant. Hoping to avoid any additional punishment than what had occurred the day before.

Just the memory alone made him cringe, the bruise on his cheek subtly aching without him even touching it.

Brendol Hux didn’t feel like he had enough time to process the thrill of what he was doing. Didn’t have a chance to enjoy it. Everything moved quickly. From meeting her, to her shoving him into his temporary quarters. To her lips on his. Well, more like her tongue on his.

Hux’s father had brought him along, a brief visitation to one of the academies spearheaded by the growing First Order. Even if it hadn’t felt like the First Order since Rae Sloane had died. They were there on some agenda that his father deemed above his pay grade. But that seemed to be everything to a cadet.

But the academy is where he met Dee’lea. A girl about his age, a cadet like him but her training wasn’t as advanced as his. But Hux had been learning the ways long before her. Well before anyone should.

Dee’lea was pretty. Blonde haired, brown eyed. She was the one that approached him first, complimenting his red hair. He was ready to dismiss her, but she wouldn’t stop talking to him. She was bubbly, to say the least. A bit obnoxious, at first, if Hux was honest. Asked too many questions, ones he asked in return to be polite. But their conversation took a turn when she asked if he had a girlfriend.

He’d given a curt no, and the rest was history. She’d kissed him, his first kiss. It wasn’t what he’d have expected, not that he’d really thought of it. He’d heard things, from old acquaintances. He hadn’t expected it to be so wet. And the amount of teeth, well. That wasn’t something he’d ever considered.

From the kiss, everything moved quickly. And that’s where he found himself sneaking off to his quarters with her, finding himself being shoved inside before her lips hit his again. Would he ever get a chance to breathe?

Their hands moved around each other, fumbling to remove the other’s uniform. Dee’lea was pushing his uniform off his shoulders before he could manage to even unfasten her belt, his struggle making her chuckle against his mouth. Her hands ran over his shoulders, down his arms. For once in his life, Hux wasn’t embarrassed by the slightness of himself. He was lean, but he’d filled out as he’d gotten older. His physical activity increased, too, giving him some form of muscle. He’d never be particularly meaty, it simply wasn’t his body type. But he couldn’t particularly care with this girl, pretty as she was, admiring him.

Her hands helped his fumbling ones in taking off her shirt. “Sorry, I--” He began, only to be shushed.

She shook her head, stray hairs swinging free from the bun fastened at the back of her head. Her smile was bright, reassuring. “It’s okay. Do you--”

The door to Brendol’s quarters whooshed open. Dee’lea and the young Hux froze, but only Hux’s eyes were filled with fear.

“Brendol, where--” The Commandant stopped in his tracks at the sight. A silence befell all three of them for a beat.

“Father, I--” There was no chance to get any more than that out before his father charged towards him. Dee’lea let out a surprised yelp as the Commandant shoved his son away from her. The older Hux gripped young Brendol’s shoulder, the one that had been so gently caressed moments before, ensuring a bruise in it’s place. But that wasn’t what hurt the most.

His father’s hand raised, coming to strike him across the cheek with the back of his hand. “Brendol!” Dee’lea gasped, the sheer sound of it hurting her ears.

“Do you ever think, Brendol? Are you trying to embarrass me? Tarnish my name?” The Commandant shouted in the face of his son.

“No! I didn’t mean anything, I was just--”

“Just what?” Brendol Sr. hissed from clenched teeth. “Trying to end up with a useless bastard like your father?” Brendol turned to the young blonde then, “Get out!”
Dee’lea glanced between the two Huxes before gathering her discarded clothing in her hands. She was quick to scurry, but stopped long enough to turn back and mouth ‘I’m sorry’ to Hux.

His father hadn’t proceeded to yell at him, after that. Only told him to gather his things, that they were leaving immediately. The simplicity of it concerned him. But after returning to the home ship, Hux avoided his father like the plague. Until he was called upon, and he knew he couldn’t ignore his father.

Brendol knocked at the door to his father’s office, the older man quickly inviting him in. “Father…” Hux trailed off at the sight before him. His father sat at his desk, as usual, but across from him sat Dee’lea. She turned to look at him as he entered. Her face was red, streaks of tears running down her face. Her hair was a wreck, some form of a bun tied at the back of her head, but it looked like most of her hair had fallen out of it. “What is she doing here?”

“She’s here to teach you a lesson, Brendol.” His father was too calm. “Come, closer.” Hux had to oblige. “I thought I’d taught you this. I thought I’d told you all this time to avoid things like this,” he gestured half-heartedly to Dee’lea, “to avoid distractions. Voids, I thought even your beloved Sloane had taught you to stay focused.”

Hux’s jaw clenched at the mention of her. She had told him to keep his sights set on his goals. He had a feeling that his father and Rae had very different definitions of ‘avoiding distractions.’

“Regardless. I don’t want this to happen again. I can’t risk you tarnishing my name anymore, bringing another mistake into the universe.” Another mistake. Another bastard, like Hux

“It won’t, Father. I won’t get distracted again, not with her, not with anyone,” Hux agreed, hoping it would appease his father enough to dismiss him, and to get him to stop bothering Dee’lea, who hadn’t said a single word since he’d entered.

“You’re right. It won’t.” The Commandant reached into his desk then, pulling something out. Dee’lea let out a sob as it came into view. A blaster. The oldest Brendol held it out to his son. “Take it.”

Hux’s gloved hand clenched and unclenched before he pulled the blaster from his father’s hands. “You know what to do with it, don’t you? You’ve done this before.”

Dee’lea stood from her seat, knocking it over in the process. “No!” She scrambled until her back hit the wall. “No, please. Brendol, please.”

“Father, don’t.”

“Brendol…” His father’s voice held a warning tone.

Young Brendol’s breathing was shaky, at best, as he raised the blaster, pointing it at his almost-lover. His finger hovered over the trigger as he tried to ignore her cries. Ignore her crying his name, pleading him not to kill her. His hand shook. He wanted, so badly, to will himself to pull the trigger. “No.” He decided, tossing the blaster onto his father’s desk. Dee’lea let out another sob, this one of relief. “No, I won’t do it. She did nothing, you know that.”


“Thank you, Brendol, thank you!” She cried her appreciation, but the sigh that came from his father seemed louder than her.

“You continue to disappoint me, Brendol.” His father complained, but neither he nor Dee’lea listened. Hux approached the blonde, extending his hand to her, failing to notice Brendol Sr. pick up the discared blaster. “The safety was on, son.” His father stated, Hux freezing, realization of what that meant dawning on him.

Everything moved slowly, instead. Dee’lea’s hand fell into his, pulling herself closer to him. Hux’s head whipping around at the sound of the safety being clicked off. “Father, no!” Hux cried out. But he was too late. Commandant Hux’s finger squeezed the trigger. Hux felt like he was frozen, like all he could do was stand and watch as a blaster bolt blew threw Dee’lea’s head, splattering her blood onto him. Onto the wall. Onto everything.

She dropped. She hit the ground with a thud. Her body limp. Her hand limp, ripping away from his. And then everything was quiet.

There was no sobbing from her. No words from his father. Hux wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore as his ocean colored eyes stared down at her body in horror.

It was silent for a few moments. Minutes, maybe, as his father let him stew in what happened. As he let his son watch as Dee'lea's skin grew paler and paler. Colder and colder.

Another sigh. "Weak..." The Commandant walked around his desk, gripping his son by the shoulders and forcing him to face him. “Perhaps, I failed you the first time. My teachings failed you. That was my fault. But after this, this lesson?” Dee’lea. Dee’lea was the lesson. In a way young Brendol hadn't understood earlier, but he did now. “You do something stupid again, I’ll send you to reconditioning.”

Brendol Jr. couldn’t help but think reconditioning paled in comparison to this.

Commandant Hux smoothed out his son’s uniform before dropping his hands, letting them fumble with the cuffs of his own uniform. “Clean this up. I want this room spotless by the time I get back from my meeting.” With that, his father left the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Hux continued to stare down at Dee’lea’s body. Watching blood pool underneath her body. Watching her blonde hair be stained red by her own blood. Hux didn’t know her well. He hadn’t known her long, either. But he knew enough. He knew she did nothing to deserve this. This was his fault. “I’m sorry.” The words spilled out of his mouth, heard by no one but himself.

Apologies meant nothing. They meant nothing to the dead.